


The Zaibatsu Project

by Nekotsuki



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: AU, Cyberpunk, Gen, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekotsuki/pseuds/Nekotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heavily influenced by the game system Cyberpunk 2020. Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction AU, set circa 2030, where almost all net interaction is virtual and information is power. This will tell the tale of Himura Kenshin, modern day street samurai and former brilliant programmer for a leading zaibatsu, before tragedy involving his greatest achievement - the black ice sentry, Battousai - drove him into seclusion. Now, years later, he will return to the ugly world of street politics and corporate war in an effort to help an unconventional netrunner find her brother. </p>
<p>The runner's name is Kamiya Kaoru, and she is the only person to have encountered the Battousai program and survived. But not for long, if the corporation has anything to say about it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_Zaibatsu. The great family-controlled banking and industrial combines of modern Japan. In 1937 the four leading zaibatsu controlled directly one third of all bank deposits, one third of all foreign trade, one half of Japan's shipbuilding and maritime shipping, and most of the heavy industries, along with heavy influence in the major political parties._

_The leading Zaibatsu were Mitsui, Mitsubishi, Dai Ichi Kangyo, Sumitomo, Sanwa and Fuyo. After Japan's surrender in World War II, the breakup of the zaibatsu was announced, and reemerged some time later in the 1950s as keiretsu. The decision of these groups in post WWII era to pool their resources greatly influenced Japan's subsequent rise as a global business power._

_Over the next century, times changed. People changed. Information was power, and the corporations horded it. Politics became superfluous, nothing more than a figurehead for those that truly held the reins. Corporate war and takeover became far more lethal than ever before. Alliances were dissolved. The keiretsu drew back and retook the name zaibatsu in violent resolve. Rivalries became a bloodbath between the hired muscle of the zaibatsu as each vied for power._

_Corporate secrets were trade bait. Many of the street hackers took such advantage that new software was developed for use within the modern, virtual computer world. Those that tried running the net ran the risk of being tagged themselves for destruction. Feedback programs were developed to short out a hacker's board and cause potentially fatal backlash to the unfortunate soul still plugged to the board. Later still, sentry programs were developed, a lethal firewall of sorts that would attack the hacker's mind itself while the hacker was travelling the networks. Those that managed to evade such firewalls - and there were very few - always described the program they had encountered visually as a demon, whether that demon be a firebreathing hell hound, a twisted cartoon character ... or a humanoid assassin._

_One of the most infamous of these programs was drawn aesthetically straight from late nineteenth century Japan. That of a daisho wielding samurai, hair red as blood and chilling eyes that struck fear into the mind of any unlucky enough to encounter it. There were whispered rumours of its existence, but nobody could confirm it. There were no netrunners that had encountered it and remained alive. The program was said to move with such speed that the only glimpse of its presence you would receive before its 'swords' delved deep into your neural patterns was the flat inhumanity of its golden eyes._

_The Battousai program was the deadliest of its kind._

\---------

**Zaibatsu Project**

\---------

The décor was pretty standard. Dim lighting, small candles flickering on the low tables. Comfortable leather couches. A long, polished black marble bar with all manner of exotic colours encased in crystal bottles on the shelving behind it. If he reconfigured his audio interface to include music, he knew, there would be some late nineties love song keeping its steady, insipid beat at a comfortable volume. Such a place had been common at the turn of the century; an old-style aristocratic bar with supposedly high standards, a meeting place used by both socialites and businessmen attempting to impress their clients.

There were some differences. There was no bartender, and every bottle of alcohol was full to the brim, there for aesthetic purposes only. One couldn't really drink on the Net, after all. Or rather, the computer could simulate the act and feel of eating and drinking, but such a sustenance program had been outlawed since 2014, after the number of people that had died from VR-related malnutrition had exceeded what the _zaibatsu_ could comfortably cover up from the media.

It was a pity, Kenshin mused, that they hadn't also outlawed certain other sensory activities. Certainly, the décor might have been nice, but if they had attempted to imitate such an old-style pub, they could at least have tried to keep the high standards. The place was crowded with any number of different 'people'; avatars designed by and based solely on the individual user's tastes in the bedroom. Across the floor, he could see everything from movie and cartoon characters to high school girls in stereotypically skimpy skirts. In other chat rooms, he knew, the tastes could dip to the more perverse. He supposed he should thank Zanza for having enough class not to arrange a meeting in another more … deviant room.

At the bar, there was an Amazon. She towered over the room at eight feet tall, with copper-bronzed skin and shining gold jewellery clasped at her throat and on the muscular bicep of her left arm. Her hair was flaxen blonde, braided artfully so that it hung straight down her back to swing gently and tantalizingly between her hips as she moved her head, laughing at some joke told. Her eyes were glittering silver.

Her breasts were a ridiculous E cup. He accessed her username out of weary amusement, and was hardly surprised. _53xyEsmer4lda._ At least the avatar was more tasteful than some. He let his gaze slide away before the silver eyes could meet his, and that was when he saw _her._

He smiled. In a realm of amazons, movie stars and bizarre creations that crossed the line into perverted, the simple avatar with its back to him was a breath of fresh air. Almost too simple; the jeans and t-shirt were slim fitting and dark, accentuating the slight figure of a woman shorter than _he_ was. Her hair was long and lustrously black, spilling free to the small of her back. The avatar was a custom job, not one of the defaults. What drew his attention was that it was so simple, so understated. That took work, not that most people here would realise this. The hair was her only vanity; he could pick no extra detail to the clothing, not even shading, and wondered what she was doing in a room like this.  
Clearly, she wasn't here to make time with the locals. She looked as out of place as he was. Every other person in the room was ignoring her. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Of course, there was nothing that said she was actually a woman in real life. He had more than enough expertise to attempt verification, but that was prying and he had always been unfailingly polite. He settled for a handle query, fingers tapping away at his side.

_-ACC/UNAME: JOUCHAN_

_Interesting._ Then he stiffened in surprise as he detected a traceback on his query. The woman swung around to meet his gaze. She was using a cheap camouflage effect, throwing the planes of her face into dark shadow, only accentuated by the dim smokiness of the room. It was effective masking. The only feature he could make out was the brilliant blue of her eyes, staring at him in accusation.

He raised both hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I meant no offence."

After a moment he felt the subtle touch of her own handle query. He offered her a gentle grin as she relaxed. "I thought you might be somebody else," she told him.

"Not somebody you're happy with, I take it?"

"I don't much like his sense of humour," she muttered darkly. "I hate meat markets."

He laughed. "Ah, you're meeting someone? You do seem a little out of place."

"You don't look much better, _Rurouni_ ," she retorted, waving at his pale, faded hakama. "Your clothes look about 150 years out of place."

"More like 180," he said agreeably. "But I imagine it was a better time."

"That wouldn't be hard." The bitter edge to her words made him blink. "So, you're pretending to be a samurai? Going to act out some sort of ancient tale of romance and tragedy?"

"Not quite." He tried not to be insulted. She had no reason to think otherwise, given the room they found themselves in. He was curious, in fact, as to why _she_ was really here. Most people 'just meeting' would avoid such a place … unless they had something to hide. But then, it wasn't really his business. Not yet, at least.

She looked at him with suspicion. "You're not one of the street samurai, are you?"

"No." He had been, once. It wasn't a fact he had interest in sharing. "I just have a fondness for that time period."

"Oh." And then suddenly, she laughed. A nervous sound of relief more than anything else. "That's funny. Well, not _funny,_ but … just coincidental. Do you use the daisho in real life as well?"

He smiled at her, understanding her relief; she'd found common ground. Apparently, Jouchan was feeling _very_ out of place. "I practice a little. I'm not that good, though."

"I teach—used to teach," she amended, "before the law came in. I guess I'm not allowed to any more. But I still go through kata every day. Old style, none of the neo-Bushido stuff."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said honestly, liking her more and more. "Especially about the training. You didn't want to keep teaching?"

"Not under the conditions," she said flatly.

And that was _very_ interesting. It spoke of either a strong distrust of authority or an unwillingness to sell out, especially if she'd been teaching a more outdated style. He contemplated following that thread a little further, and then decided to butt out; after having her relax so much in his company, he found himself disinclined to make her uncomfortable again. The girl was a breath of fresh air in a _very_ stale atmosphere.

Instead, he diverted to an entirely different subject. "So … why the shadow effect?" he asked teasingly. "Did you have problems designing the face?"

"What?" She looked startled. "Oh, uh … I just … like it." She made a gesture to her jeans and t-shirt. "I didn't put much detail in. I guess the face was the same, really."

_You certainly put a lot of detail into the hair and the eyes._ He was beginning to form a theory on that, and was wondering whether he was brave enough to voice it when a small chime on his alert list informed him that the man he was waiting for had arrived.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was meeting someone here too, and they've just arrived. It was nice meeting—"

"Zanza!" she shouted, leaning around him to wave across the room. He was still gaping in total surprise when she glanced back apologetically. "Er, that's all right, my friend is here too—"

"Yo!" A meaty arm thumped down around Kenshin's shoulders, and he jumped, glancing sideways. The owner of the arm was a tall, muscular man with spiky brown hair and a long red headband holding the fringe back, white and unbuttoned hanten jacket apparently programmed to blow slightly backward to expose his tanned chest and stomach. The man smirked at him knowingly, coffee eyes crinkling in amusement at some joke the two of them were apparently supposed to share.

Kenshin stared at him in something close to distaste – and then noticed Jouchan was staring at them very curiously. He opened his mouth to say, _It's not what it looks like—_

And then it clicked.

_-ACC/UNAME: ZANZA_

_This_ was his contact? This … walking, street fighter video game reject? Kenshin stared at him, trying to equate the email he'd received with the over-the-top avatar in white now draped heavily on him with a familiarity that made him itch to actually draw the katana sheathed at his waist. But Zanza's attention had shifted from him to the woman, whose curious glance was beginning to take on a seriously nervous edge.

"Heya, Jou-chan," he greeted. "Nice to see you could make it."

"Yeah, but you seem to have double booked me," she snapped back.

There was a small pause, as Kenshin watched the slowly dawning realization on Zanza's face that he had seriously messed up. And then the guy smiled brilliantly, eyes narrowed in calculation as he apparently thought of a way out of the whole mess. Lazily, his free arm reached out and snagged the woman, pulling her in close.

Kenshin was treated to a very close up view of those brilliant eyes widening in outrage and found himself very grateful that his avatar was incapable of blushing.

"That's all right," Zanza said agreeably, lowering his voice. "It'd be boring with just me and, uh … Rurouni, here. I could go a threesome, couldn't you, bud?"

"Oro?" Kenshin squeaked. It was all he had time for. She wrenched away from them both, jerking back to put space between them all, her furious gaze swinging from one to the other.

" _Damn_ you, Sano!" she hissed. "This was _important!_ "

"Um…" Kenshin tried. "Jouchan, I'm—"

"Go to hell!" she yelled at him, hands reaching up to her ears.

He was still trying to apologise when her avatar blurred and then vanished. He stared at the place she'd been standing and tried to comprehend that. Nobody logged out like that anymore; the fact that she'd had to reach up to her head meant that Jouchan was using an antiquated VR set; one that had been out of production for a good twenty years.

Illegal to use one, too. Not that most people cared, but … right in front of him, and he was meant to …

There was a polite cough.

"Sorry 'bout that," Zanza grinned crookedly. Or was it Sano? "I think she's mad at me."

"She's not the only one," Kenshin said, voice cool. "I can't begin to list the number of things I just saw that I should be _dealing_ with right now."

The smile vanished. "She's a good kid. She just can't afford to upgrade. If you mess her up, I'll find a way to return the favour. I don't care _how_ high up the chain you are."

The words seemed at odds with Zanza's earlier mood. Yet studying the man's now stiff posture, brown eyes cool and steady, he knew that the man meant every word. Kenshin wondered just how much of the brash 'street fighter' persona had been an act. He found it oddly reassuring that Jouchan had such a staunch defender.

Even if that defender was on the wrong side of the law. Which brought him neatly to the whole reason they were meeting in the first place.

Kenshin raised an eyebrow. At least the threat had provided him with an excuse to forget Jouchan's lapse. "I won't," he said succinctly, "report your friend's illegal hardware. And I also won't report her for apparently having business dealings with someone like _you_ , Zanza. For a bonus, I'll even forget I heard what I suspect might be your real name."

"Well, that's really nice of you," Zanza said warily. "Catch?"

"Cut your price in half."

"Aww, come on—"

Kenshin smiled at him. Sweetly. And waited for the man to weigh up the loss of profit against the other, more important things that he would lose. Friendship. Business. Privacy.

Eventually, Zanza gave a sigh. "Bartender," he said sharply. "Access private room. Occupants: Zanza, Rurouni. Close curtains."

_Access granted. Proceed, and enjoy your hour!_

They vanished from the room.

\---------


	2. Chapter 2

__**435.085**  
2342.33  
436457.aa.exe  
Scanning… … … …  
Match found: webhost/GIM2028beta/Zanza  
-Creating resource tag General  
-Creating resource tag Internal  
-Creating buffer Autodetect

__**error # 25.1 incorrect login**  
-initiating bypass  
/pwd/taichou/accepted 

\----- 2029/07/31 -----  
\----- 2029/07/31 -----  
\----- 2029/07/31 -----

**Zanza:** Look, its waaay past your bedtime so why don't you sleep?  
 **KenjRose** : DON'T patronise me Sano! I'm serious!  
 **Zanza** : I already said I was sorry, k? I screwed up.  
 **Zanza** : I wasn't the only one, btw.  
 **Zanza** : You wanna think twice about storming off like that?  
 **KenjRose** : What? I just wanted to give you and your boyfriend a bit of space.  
 **Zanza** : AHAHAHA! …business meeting, idiot. You know? That thing I do?  
 **KenjRose** : Fine.  
 **KenjRose** : Next time when I ask you to meet take me seriously.  
 **Zanza** : I did. I just forgot. Look, I'm sorry.  
 **Zanza** : Look, I apologised again.  
 **Zanza** : Sorry?  
 **Zanza** : …Jouchan?

_**Match found: webhost/GIM2028beta/Jouchan  
-Assigning dataraven:kenjrose/ipt** _

**KenjRose** : …yeah. Okay. Look. Just tell me. I know Yahiko came to see you.  
 **Zanza** : What?  
 **KenjRose** : I don't care what you promised him. I need to know where he went.  
 **Zanza** : What makes you think I saw him?  
 **KenjRose** : Because I know you. And I know him. And I know what he was thinking. I'm not stupid, Sano. Where did you send him?  
 **Zanza** : I didn't send him anywhere.  
 **KenjRose** : He hasn't come home.  
 **Zanza** : … ah.  
 **KenjRose** : It's been six days. I know he came to see you. What did he say?  
 **Zanza** : (sigh) Don't be too hard on him. He only came to see me to brag. Told me to keep it a secret cos of confidentiality or some such. I guess he signed a contract.  
 **KenjRose** : He signed a contract?  
 **Zanza** : Jouchan, he was happy. He got a job interview. Was gonna help pay the bills. He was doing it for you.  
 **KenjRose** : Who with?  
 **Zanza** : Um, telling you that might get him in trouble…  
 **KenjRose** : He's already in trouble.  
 **Zanza** : No, I mean serious trouble. Corporate stuff.  
 **KenjRose** : SANO! He's 11 years old!  
 **Zanza** : They've taken on kids before. Hell, they've probably just hired him as a courier.  
 **KenjRose** : SIX DAYS!  
 **Zanza** : …okay, yeah, fine.  
 **Zanza** : I see your point. But you can't point a finger at the zaibatsu based on someone saying he was going there. He might never have made it. I know that's harsh, but for god's sake think it through first before you do something stupid.  
 **KenjRose** : I'm not going to do something stupid.  
 **Zanza** : Course not.  
 **Zanza** : You never do.  
 **KenjRose** : Where did he go?  
 **KenjRose** : Please, Sano.  
 **Zanza** : Look, promise me you'll at least find out for sure.

_**/ipt established kenjrose  
…accessing** _

**KenjRose** : I promise.  
 **Zanza** : Gggg. Gah. Okay. Try the reception building for Sumitomo. That's where he'll have gone first.  
 **Zanza** : They should have record if he was there or not at least.

__**... … … … …**  
/Kamiya Kaoru  
/2nd Floor Unit 45  
/Kumizasaki Complex ID 633.27  
/Lesser Tokyo

**KenjRose** : Thanks.  
KenjRose has logged off at 03:31:14  
 **Zanza** : You're welcome. Idiot. Oh, look. Now I'm talking to myself.  
Zanza has logged off at 03.31.48

__**-Confirming dataraven ping**  
-Deleting traceback  
435.085 2342.33 436457.aa.exe/deletion confirmed 

_**  
-Access terminated** _

\---------

There she was, again.

_"… can thank the recent law regarding our schools and dojo for this new wave of talent to hit the street! As you know, several of the more traditional classes have closed down in the past year, unable or perhaps unwilling to afford the tithe in martial skill that our powerful corporations apparently now require in order to maintain control..."_ The host reporter in the vids reported this with a glee that was - as far as he was concerned - totally inappropriate, given the line she was very close to crossing. The media was the one real power that the _zaibatsu_ still treated with kid gloves, but that didn't mean one should taunt them at every opportunity; even on a relatively harmless, hype-and-trend program like _Juice!._ There was still the faint chance that someone powerful enough to make a young, female reporter vanish without fanfare was also bored enough to flip channels to the teenage section.

Someone like him, for instance. But then, he suspected she pushed the line on _precisely_ his account.

There were two of his staff in the lunch room, behaving less like the strict enforcers of corporate protection that they were meant to be and more like a couple of snickering school boys, leaning back on the plastic chairs in the brightly lit cafeteria and making crude comments on anything from the reporter's too-young looks to the different uses they could find for that long, dark braid of hair. He stood in the doorway, watching them with absolute silence, and wondered how long it would take for them to notice his existence. That they hadn't yet, meant that he was already going to reassign them for training. Just how long and strenuous that training was going to be depended precisely on how long it took them to realise they were being spied on.

In the meantime, he was more than patient enough to stand like a dark statue and watch part of his security squad make fools of themselves. And certainly, his patience had nothing to do with the program on the vid screens that they were so intent on watching.

_"…closed down, singer Tagashi Rumiko began to look for other avenues of escape from Lesser Tokyo. It's been a long and bumpy ride, but with their first single headed for platinum and several of our smaller, trendier companies seeking endorsements, Ripperjack looks set to enjoy the high profile life for some time. And now, on behalf of Juice, I am proud to introduce …"_

"I am proud to introduce," the taller guard mimicked, overriding her next words, "my breasts for your viewing pleasure."

The other broke into a fit of laughter, sending small biscuit crumbs everywhere. "Don't be stupid. She doesn't _have--_ "

Aoshi's grip on the door frame tightened. "Gentlemen."

His voice was very soft. Nevertheless, the word cut through the raucous laughter with ease, bringing the two of them to attention immediately. Chairs scraped back as the two stood, saluting him almost in unison, faces attentive. Which was something, he supposed. But no longer enough to satisfy. Behind them, the green eyed reporter winked at the screen, bouncing with enthusiasm as she continued her interview with someone he really didn't give a damn about.

He shifted his attention back to them, eyes cold. "It seems that Kanryuu's latest round of hiring falls short of my requirements. Skills in observation and courtesy are key to your role here."

The short one gawked. There were still crumbs on his chin. "Sir, we were on break—"

"There are no excuses," he replied evenly. "Four weeks' additional training with the corps. Go."

They didn't dare to protest as they filed out. Not even when his order forced them out of the city and so far from home. Briefly, he considered finding a reason to have them removed from his squad, and then decided against it. After all, they had done nothing wrong, and even now people were still allowed to have their own opinions. Objectively, if those opinions concerned the maligning of a teenage girl, he had no cause to complain. Nor should he care.

He was within his rights in one area, though; observation was important. Aoshi turned at the slight footfall in the corridor, regarding the new arrival with a calm gaze that belied the sudden crawl of distaste along his spine.

"There you are, Shinomori." The newcomer, usually so languid in his mannerisms, was striving for grave tones that were completely at odds with the faint satisfaction in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have some sad news."

They stared at each other in frigid silence. There was nothing else that had to be said; only one thing could have happened for the man in the doorway to look so … smug. Aoshi knew a quiet moment of regret, and not just for the events that would now come to pass.

"I will set up the meeting," he murmured after a moment.

"See that you do. This afternoon, if you can." The man smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure we have much to catch up on."

He turned on his heel and left.

Aoshi stood in the small cafeteria, considering his options. Things would start to get very bad now, but at least he was still in a position to try and prevent it. As for others …

… Himura was not going to very happy at all.

_"… wrapping up, this is Makimachi Misao, coming at you live from Juice! Studio with the premier interview of one of the hottest properties of the year. And, as always! I'm always looking out for talent, both new and old. If you're that certain someone, then call—"_

Aoshi shut the vid screen down and walked from the room without a backward glance.

He had, after all, decided long ago that her plan was never going to work.

\---------

Her father had been a fine, upstanding citizen of Tokyo, back in the day when there was _only_ Tokyo and the _zaibatsu_ hadn't high-handedly divided the city into two sectors. She had the uneasy feeling that he wouldn't quite approve of how she lived her life now – of what she did to make ends meet – but the reality of modern times meant that she had to use what skills she had. Once, netrunning – computer hacking, in older parlance – had just been a school pasttime, a way of proving it could be done. She had never intended it to be more than that … but now? Now, her father was dead, and she was no longer legally allowed to teach kenjutsu – not in any way she cared to, at any rate – and she had Yahiko to support.

Or did, until now.

_Sano, you idiot. No job offered a kid in this city is going to be safe. Damn you, damn you, damn you—_

She exhausted all other possibilities first. Broke into Yahiko's desktop and checked his email. Harassed every one of his contacts. Left word with Tae at the bar to keep an eye out and harass anyone she'd ever seen Yahiko talk to. Kaoru would apologise later – maybe – for this invasion of his privacy, but right now there were two possibilities foremost in her mind on why her younger brother would have vanished for six days and not bothered to say a word. He was either in serious trouble, or he was hiding from her.

Either way, Kaoru was very angry. It was better to be angry, really. She couldn't afford to slide into panic.

She was going to _murder_ him when she found him.

Surface skimming had turned up nothing. She would have to delve deeper. Kaoru slammed the phone down and stalked to the console, dropping heavily into the seat to pick up the VR headset from the desk. She slid it on carefully, keeping her eyes closed until the screen had slid down to cover her face, and winced as the earpieces slid home, cutting off all sound except that which would feed through the inbuilt speakers. The VR set was old, compatible with the modern Net only with heavy modification. These days, most people accessed the Net via a sub-dermal microchip that could plug into their computer and send electronic messages directly to the brain. Faster. Easier. Far more expensive.

It also required getting fitted with the microchip in question, which conveniently doubled as personal identification and credit record, and – as far as she could see – was the greatest difference between Greater and Lesser Tokyo. Kaoru felt distinctly uncomfortable with some operating system being able to track her every move, particularly given she currently had an occupation that could be punishable by death. She had quite sensibly opted not to get one.

She began her search. A safe one, for now; like she'd done several days running, Kaoru skimmed the public gathering points, the nearby retail stores and the bars, looking for any record of Yahiko's passing. If he'd used his card for any purchase, she would know. When that failed, she carefully insinuated her presence into the databanks of the Shuei Syndicate, searching worriedly for any sign that they had decided to reclaim their former pickpocket.

Nothing. Which was both a relief and a frustration.

Finally, after far too much fruitless searching, she had turned with dread to access the checkpoint logs, obtaining a list of all those that had signed in or out to travel between sectors. She had left it until last for a reason. The logs were almost beyond her skill, heavily password-locked and protected with several ICE programs; walls that took her hours to worm her way through.  She'd never have given any thought to Yahiko going _uptown_ before now.  Kaoru skimmed in undetected, read the logs, and found with sharp dismay that one Myoujin Yahiko had passed through that way five and a half days ago, 1915 hours, listed reason: business.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it_ …she nearly jerked herself out of the system then and there, wanting nothing more than to throw the headset across the room and scream. But one didn't mess with corporation technology casually; Kaoru forced herself to back slowly out of the system, sweeping away traces of her presence as she went.

By the time she took the headset off and wiped at her tired eyes, it was almost nine in the morning. After that, she didn't remember much else. Too exhausted by far, Kaoru got as far as rolling off the chair onto the carpet before she collapsed into much needed sleep, face first on the living room floor.

\---------

Four hours later she peeled herself from the carpet and staggered into the bathroom. Kaoru peered at her reflection blearily. Eyes bloodshot and hair that looked like so much flyaway black straw … now _there_ was a good image to be taking uptown.

Sleep had done nothing to blunt her anger. Kaoru stubbed her toe on the shower door, swore at it colourfully for a few seconds, and then wrenched the taps on hard before tossing her clothing in a pile and vanishing into the cubicle. She had to get clean; far too many hours had been spent hooked online of late. She lay the blame for that firmly on Sano's doorstep. If the idiot had bothered to let her know straight away where Yahiko was headed, it would have saved her a lot of time.

And now, of course, she didn't have any choice. She was a grey-ops hacker; her skill didn't come close to what it took to crack through even the outer layer of a _zaibatsu_ security system. No doubt if she tried, she'd be bounced right back out with so many tags and traces riding back with her that it would probably take all of thirty seconds for some corporate meathead to freeze all her assets – such as they were - and send the police to knock ever so politely on her door. Maybe they'd even send a power surge through the computer just for the hell of it. Kaoru snorted. There was no point thinking about it; even if she managed it, once past the outer layer, corporations didn't tend to play nice.

So in the meantime, she intended to pursue her last option, which would also satisfy the promise she'd made to Sano. She would march through the checkpoint to Greater Tokyo, stalk into the Sumitomo reception building and demand to see her brother.

Once she looked halfway presentable, at least.

She stayed in the shower until the water turned cold – a total of eight luxurious minutes of her time – and then snatched a towel from the rail, lurching down the hallway towards the bedroom. She really needed more sleep. She also really needed breakfast, a good dose of caff, a better hole-in-the-wall to live and maybe a nice holiday …

The towel dropped in the hallway. It took her all of two minutes to pull on the nearest clean clothing she could find – worn blue jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt, great fashion statement, but who was watching? – and run a comb through her hair. Kaoru wormed her feet into her running shoes as she tied back the long, dark strands into a serviceable ponytail.

She could hear rain outside. Perfect for a nice walk. At least it would wake her up a little more. She grabbed her anorak and headed for the door, pausing long enough to snatch her sunglasses from the dresser.

The light was going to hurt enough as it was. She really needed to get out more.

\---------

She flashed her ID card at the two guards at the gate and let them log her name and reason for going uptown (family visit), and stepped into Greater Tokyo.

Uptown was the _zaibatsu's_ world; a place controlled by private security and corporate decision rather than any police presence. Long, even streets of glass and marble and steel skyscrapers, tapering off into luxurious apartment buildings and the occasional ground floor, old style mansion. The _zaibatsu_ supplied housing for many of its employees; if you worked for a family corporation, you certainly didn't hail from Lesser Tokyo.

There was much less visible crime here – something, Kaoru supposed, that had a lot to do with the security outside the more opulent buildings, not to mention that _zaibatsu_ terms of employment required by contract that each employee be fitted with sub-dermal identification. On the surface, the ID didn't seem like such a bad thing –after all, if you lived your life above the law, what did it matter?

She might have believed it. But all of that fell by the wayside, the first time she saw an ambulance leave a dying person in the street, just because the paramedics had run a cred check and realised that the casualty wouldn't be able to pay a medical bill.

The world hadn't always been this cynical. Had it? She hadn't lied to the samurai in the chat room; Kaoru would have dearly loved to live in a time before computers had ever existed. Once a machine ran everything, the world faded into shades of grey. It was why, despite the sector's problems, she much preferred Lesser Tokyo. The _zaibatsu_ tended to mind their own areas and leave downtown to normal law enforcement, only paying the briefest attention when they decided to send a security team in to put a brutal end to anyone they deemed a threat, which was thankfully a rare occurrence.

Well … at least they had been leaving her corner of the world alone. She scowled, crossing the street in the rain, feet slapping through puddles in an utterly undecorous fashion. First, the edict concerning the schools – she knew it was their way of dealing with the neo-Bushido movement, but to force martial schools to both register with contractual obligation to a _zaibatsu_ corporation and practically indenture the students to that corporation as a result ...? It was lunacy. It was, in fact, just another form of conscription.

And now, Yahiko.

She stopped at the stairs to the Sumitomo plaza, taking a deep breath, fists clenched under the too-large coat sleeves as she sized up the four security guards outside that looked at her curiously. They wouldn't stop her; this was the reception building, open to the general public.

Kaoru pushed her sunglasses back, lifted her chin and stalked through the double glass doors.

Once inside, she couldn't hear the rain any more. She was dripping water on the polished floor; she didn't care. Her footsteps echoed across the tiles as she approached the long desk at the far end of the foyer.

The receptionist was a young woman with perfectly styled, dyed blonde hair - and a wide, welcoming smile that was so fake Kaoru itched to find some way to wipe it from her face. She settled for placing both hands on the counter, hesitating as she tried to find words that wouldn't immediately get her escorted from the premises.

"Welcome to Sumitomo!" the woman chirped, not moving a hair. "My name is Sakura. How can I help you today?"

Kaoru swallowed. "I'm … looking for my brother." And then, cursing herself for the note of diffidence that had crept into her voice, she added flatly, "He came here for a job interview some time ago. I haven't seen him since. His name is Myoujin Yahiko."

If she had hoped for some sort of stir, she was disappointed. Sakura gave a slight nod, hands reaching to tap at the keys in front of her. "Let me just check that for you…"

_Don't break a fingernail_ , Kaoru thought sourly. She felt distinctly out of place; somehow, she'd imagined coming in and having to pry Yahiko's whereabouts out of reception by force. _Of course, there's still time for that …_

"Myoujin Yahiko?" Sakura smiled benevolently. "I have him on our staff listing. It seems your brother has recently become employed with the Sumitomo corporation. Congratulations!"

"I…what?" Kaoru blinked. _Just like that?_ She felt a surge of relief that made her weak at the knees, followed by a swift thread of anger. He was okay, and he _still_ hadn't called her? "Where is he?"

There was a hesitation. Sakura's eyes flicked distinctly to the pair of guards lurking just inside the door before she turned back to Kaoru with an apologetic look. "I'm very sorry, but I cannot give out information regarding our employees to the public."

Kaoru stared at her. "That's ridiculous. Even if you hadn't _just told me he was here_ , I'm his _sister and he's a minor_! I don't care how powerful you are! He can't just get a job without there being notification to direct family!"

"You are entirely correct," Sakura replied soothingly. "And you would be?"

"Kamiya Kaoru," she snapped.

"Oh, your name is Kamiya? I see." The receptionist's smile turned sly. "Married name?"

"No, it's my father's—"

"But _Myoujin_ Yahiko is your brother?"

"He—" Kaoru stopped. … _Oh. No, they wouldn't dare. They wouldn't_.

"Yahiko," she said steadily, "is my adopted brother. He may not be a blood relation, but I am still the only family he has."

"And do you have the correct paperwork to prove that relationship?"

And of course she didn't. Kaoru closed her eyes.

"I'm afraid then that I cannot help you," Sakura said, oozing sympathy. "But I am sure that if Myoujin-san feels the need to contact you he will do so of his own accord. Do have a nice—"

_Like hell._

Kaoru's fist slammed down on the counter. The receptionist shut up with a very satisfactory yelp. "Don't …you … dare patronise me!" she hissed. "He is my brother!"

"Kamiya-san, there is no need at all for theatrics—"

"I asked you a simple question!" she cried. "You know exactly where he is and you don't want to tell me. Tell me--"

And then, of course, as she had expected from the moment the blonde had glanced across the room, Kaoru felt the heavy hand descend, crushingly, onto her shoulder. Sakura straightened up, brushing at her clothing as if Kaoru's outburst had somehow tainted her.

"Gohei," the receptionist said levelly, "Kindly escort Kamiya-san out of the building."

Kaoru glanced up into a bearded face split with a faintly leering grin, and had enough chance to give a small yelp as she was hauled off the ground by her collar. Her feet scrabbling for purchase, she swung helplessly as Gohei turned on his heel and lumbered toward the glass doors, his partner moving quietly to walk on her other side. "This isn't fair! _He's eleven years old_!"

"Life isn't fair, dear," Sakura smiled after her. "Have a nice day!"

The doors slid open quietly, letting the sound of the rain wash over them. Kaoru twisted in Gohei's grip with an angry cry as they approached the stairs and struggled to get loose, and only gasped as his grip tightened, digging painfully into her shoulder. The huge man grinned at her again as she flinched.

Kaoru kicked him in the knee. Hard. It was the only thing she could reach, which was a pity. Still, the shriek of pain she drew from him was almost enough to compensate for the retaliatory swing of his arm as he flung her into empty space to tumble backward. Her foot touched wet concrete and twisted painfully, and she flailed for purchase before she could fall backward down the stairs to land in what she was sure was going to be a badly damaged heap. She couldn't fight the laws of physics any more than she could fight the damn corporation; Kaoru tried to go limp and absorb the brunt of the impact as best she could.

It was surprisingly easy to absorb, actually. She was dimly aware of colliding with something far more yielding than concrete. It was only when she felt the arm wrap low around her waist, another gripping her arm for support, that she realised that someone had intervened to arrest her fall.

Kaoru blinked as she was set back on her feet, and caught a glimpse of tangled, damp red hair from the corner of her eye as her supposed rescuer stepped up beside her, speaking in a tone that didn't quite match the soft smile that went with it. "For shame, Gohei. I thought you had learned better than that by now."

_Who the hell…?_ No sane person would ever mess with _zaibatsu_ security.

Which meant she had been rescued by a lunatic.

Terrific.

\---------


	3. Chapter 3

_By 2015, Japan's persistent modernism had reached a critical point. Many of the old traditions that had been in place even up until the turn of the century had fallen into disuse, replaced by the constant struggle for power and advantage and technology that even the smallest corporations would enter into. In the world of the zaibatsu, corporate takeover had long since ceased being a matter of who owned what company shares and instead was a matter of murder and bloodshed, whether by covert assassination or full scale raid. While the commercial and industrial sectors thrived on such chaos, only the media crews – stubborn in the face of vast opposition – highlighted the unhappiness of the common citizens forced to live in the shadow of capitalistic death, people who claimed that the traditions and honour of Japan were long forgotten._

_In early 2016, their dissatisfaction found an outlet. A man by the name of Hidaka Koshijiro called for a return of the common folk's pride, claiming that if those that led them had fallen to greed, the people themselves could show that the old teachings and way of life could live on. He instilled in those few dissatisfied individuals that listened to him the teachings of honour and compassion, courage and loyalty that was the code of the samurai that had lived some hundreds of years previously. The media dubbed Hidaka's teachings the Neo-Bushido movement, and followed its rise to dominate the streets of Lesser Tokyo with great interest._

_Hidaka himself meant no great harm; he intended only that his own archaic beliefs would live on and give the younger generations some measure of pride. However, as more and more people flocked to his banner, the more his teachings were skewed. The guttergangs, particularly, began to use the Neo-Bushido movement as an excuse to consolidate their power on the streets, preaching their own version of the movement in ways that had little to do with the old samurai way. With their long hair worn in topknots, swords and tattoos that made a mockery of the seven symbols of Bushido, the media dubbed these new groups tongue-in-cheek as street samurai. Their influence grew in its own right, twisting and perverting Hidaka's original teachings until the concept of neo-Bushido was just an excuse to commit their own brand of murder in a way very consistent with the yakuza._

_As the zaibatsu began to notice the trouble brewing on the streets, they began to employ several undercover operatives of their own to insinuate their way into Lesser Tokyo and take scale of the situation in order to divine whether the street samurai were dangerous or, in fact, could be useful to them in other ways. In the midst of this investigation however, Hidaka Koshijiro himself was publicly assassinated by an unknown assailant. It was 2025._

_Immediately, both sides of the neo-Bushido movement descended into chaos. Those that followed Hidaka's true teachings called for justice, accusing the street samurai of murdering Hidaka to display their contempt for his way of life. Ironically, the street samurai found themselves under attack from people now brandishing Hidaka's teachings as their reason for revenge. The streets of Lesser Tokyo descended into bloodshed that outstripped even the bloodiest corporate raid._

_The media, ever at odds with zaibatsu policy, covered the weeks of street warfare with the solemn accusation that the corporations' lack of care for the common people was at fault._

_The zaibatsu, for their part, kept silence on this accusation and merely observed the fighting as the undermined police of Lesser Tokyo worked to control the damage. It was only when the street war threatened to upscale into rioting and spill into their own clean avenues that they sent their own private enforcement troops in through the gates, separating the two sides with no tolerance for resistance. Those that the zaibatsu had originally sent in undercover – still trapped in their allocated roles – were ordered to turn on the street samurai they were with and take them apart from the inside._

_It took several weeks to return the streets of Lesser Tokyo to comparative peace. Those that followed the neo-Bushido movement still existed on both sides, but were forced into an uneasy peace. The media continued their attack on zaibatsu standards, calling for an inquiry into how the corporations had let things get to such a bloody impasse. In this one thing, however, usually at odds with each other, the zaibatsu held a united front and launched a very public inquiry into the cause and effect of the Neo-Bushido movement._

_In late 2027, as a result of this inquiry, the zaibatsu instituted the Martial Regulation Act, which required all martial schools and dojo of any kind to register all student enrolments with the allocated zaibatsu for their sector, tithing thirty percent of all enrolment fees. Additionally, in exchange for the zaibatsu endorsing a student's training in the art of combat, the zaibatsu would hold the right to select any of those students they required and in effect conscript them into zaibatsu ranks._

_In this way, the zaibatsu effectively put an end to further skilled martial artists of any kind having any freedom to work in any way that was against zaibatsu interests._

_The media, of course, picked up on this and angrily reported that the Martial Regulation Act benefited the zaibatsu most of all, but by then it was much too late. For once, the media had been vastly outplayed._

_The events leading up to and including the Martial Regulation Act are noted as one of the rare times that the zaibatsu worked together in order to achieve ends that were beneficial to all of them. With the new Act in place, it was now firmly believed that nothing would be able to shake the powerbase of the massive corporations ever again._

_\---------_

It had been two years since Kenshin had been back to see the corporation in person. Coming back to find a large, overweight security guard throwing a young woman down the front stairs was, he decided, a vivid argument for why he'd wanted to stay the hell away.

Particularly when the guard in question was Hiruma Gohei. Hadn't he put in a recommendation for having the ass _fired_? Although granted, there were more important things to worry about. The victim, for one, soaked from the rain and pinwheeling backward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to keep from being hurt. She was going to fail.

Kenshin dropped his umbrella and lunged forward, sliding over the wet pavers to catch her. A soft noise of surprise escaped her as she collided with him, nearly overbalancing them both. He flung his arms around her waist and shoulder and did his best to keep them both upright despite the rain-soaked stairs. All in all, not the most graceful of catches; he hoped she would forgive him, whoever she was.

Once they were steady, he took a small step backward and deposited her on even ground before straightening and turning to smile coolly at the idiot thug on the stairs.

"For shame, Gohei." He felt her stiffen in his arms and let go, moving to stand in front of her. "I thought you had learned better than that by now."

"Bitch kicked me," the huge man replied, face sullen.

"I imagine you deserved it, then." Kenshin glanced across the plaza, gauging the situation. Gohei's partner was a much shorter man who had apparently decided Gohei could ride this one out on his own, standing diffidently a few steps back with his eyes downcast. Of the four stationed guards outside, two of them were still steadfastly keeping their eyes fixed on the square, ignoring the situation. The other two were watching them warily, obviously wondering if they should intercede.

One wore a look of open disgust, staring at the back of Gohei's head with one hand resting very close to the taser at his hip. Kenshin masked a small sigh, more relieved than he expected; at least the big man's behaviour was still considered unacceptable. He turned back to Gohei with a measuring look. "Go back to your post."

"But she--"

"Go _now_ , Gohei," he said coldly. "I've already recommended once that you be removed from duty. You don't want me to pursue it. Whatever this young lady did, I can't imagine it excuses your actions here."

Gohei opened his mouth to object, then shut it again with a look of frustration, directing a baleful glare over Kenshin's shoulder. His partner stepped forward, catching him by the wrist with a mutter. "C'mon. Let's go. She ain't worth it."

Kenshin watched as the two of them gave a half-hearted salute, and forced himself to watch until they had vanished into the building. Then he sighed and turned with a wry smile to meet the gaze of the young woman who, up until now, had been very quiet behind him.

He bit back his amused smile at his first impression; her hair was soaked through, slick, dark strands plastered along the line of her jaw as she stared at him with incredulous blue eyes. The sunglasses that had – apparently – been perched on top of her head had slid forward to balance haphazardly across the bridge of her nose, giving her a rather comical look. The anorak she was wearing kept most of the rain from drenching her, though he could see the collar of the white shirt she was wearing was stuck to her collarbone. Her face was pale, dark circles around brilliant blue that seemed faintly familiar.

She didn't look like she hailed from Greater Tokyo, with the worn state of her clothes. Brave to march her way into Sumitomo, for whatever reason. And she'd seen the need to kick Gohei, which he found he really couldn't fault her for. He stooped to pick up his discarded umbrella, holding it out to her. He knew by now that his own hair was a damp mess, straggling out of its ponytail. He didn't suppose it mattered. Whatever the Sumitomo family had seen fit to drag him in for, it was hardly likely to be for his dress code.

"Here. As an apology."

She glanced up at him, a stunned impression on her face. Kenshin smiled and waited for her to take it. He was thoroughly unprepared when her wide eyes narrowed in sudden fury and her hand lifted back to strike the umbrella out of his hands.

" _You!_ " she hissed. "How _dare_ you!"

Kenshin blinked. "You have a standing argument with umbrellas?"

"Don't make fun of me! You _work_ here!" From the look of her balled fists, she was desperately trying not to punch him. She bit off the words, blue eyes snapping with anger and hurt. "Give him back!"

He stared at her, at a loss for words. She was shaking in the rain, and he found with a faint sense of horror that he didn't want to see her cry. He had a feeling she would never forgive him for seeing it. "Give who back?" he finally asked softly.

She stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and started to leave. Limping; she'd hurt herself on the stairs after all. He caught up with her easily, a hand on her arm. "Miss, who—"

She shook him off. "Forget it," she snapped. "I'm tired of playing your stupid games. I'll come back with paperwork and I bet you _still_ wouldn't let me see him. He's _just a kid, you bastard."_

He let her go, then. Not without regret, though he knew if he continued pursuing her she _would_ strike him, and then security would no doubt attempt to act on his behalf. Kenshin frowned. Something had clearly happened that she was blaming him for by association.

At least that meant he should be able to find out more from reception. He resolved to ask after the meeting.

\---------

There was a woman he didn't know at the main reception desk. This in itself was not surprising; the people who took entry level positions in the _zaibatsu_ were usually either promoted or fired within six months. _Reception_ seemed such a joke these days, in any case; the amount of people that actually walked in off the street to ask a question, when it was much easier to use the Net to contact the FAQ centre …

Certainly the perfectly blonde woman who was simpering at him from behind the desk would have almost nothing to do with her time except look good. Even so, her artificial glamour and brittle politeness seemed very at odds with the corporation that Kenshin was familiar with. Katsura would never hire such a woman.

That gave him his first clue that something was amiss.

He kept his smile, however, resting a hand on the marble top and inclining his head, reading the name plate before glancing back to the receptionist. "Sakura-san, is it?"

Sakura blushed, her smile becoming slightly more genuine. "You honour me, Himura-sama!"

He let his wince show just a touch. "Please don't. Himura-san will be fine."

"Yes, sir."

Kenshin hesitated, considering his next words. He was tempted to ask now: _who was the woman that was just here?_ Reasonably, he knew the meeting would be far more important - a summons after two years of accepting electronic reports meant something serious was going on that would involve him whether he liked it or not – but the memory of her eyes, staring at him in accusation, refused to die. He didn't like being guilty by association.

Nor did he like the nagging sensation that he was missing something very obvious. There was a familiarity about her, and he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Maybe if she hadn't looked like a drowned rat at the time …

"Himura-s..san?"

He glanced back to Sakura with a rueful look. "I'm sorry. Sakura-san, I would like to know—"

He broke off. There was movement in the shadow of the corridor beyond, directly behind the desk. Sakura couldn't see the small flare of the pale overcoat as a tall man stepped away from the wall, bringing up a hand to lay fingers against his chest, curled to form a particular signal that immediately put Kenshin on edge.

_Brace yourself._

"—this is what I get for not being here in so long," Kenshin said with a smile that no longer reached his eyes. Something was definitely amiss, and he knew now what it was going to be. "Could you direct me to the meeting I'm here to attend, Sakura-san?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled cheerfully. "You'll want to take the western elevators to the thirty eighth floor; main boardroom. I believe the others are already here. Should I tell them you are on your way?"

"Unnecessary," he replied, already moving past the desk to the elevators. "Thank you, Sakura-san."

She stood. "Oh, I'm sure I can show you the way—"

"Unnecessary, I said." His tone was gentle. "And it would be very unprofessional for you to leave your post. Don't make two mistakes in one afternoon."

There was a rude mutter from one of the niches somewhere behind him. Predictably, Gohei hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. Sakura took Kenshin's meaning straight away; she flushed under his gaze, sitting back in her seat with her hands folded in her lap.

Kenshin didn't wait for her subdued response, but rather strode to the elevator bank, thumbing the button with a casualness he no longer felt.

\---------

 _Brace yourself._  
  
Those words – that signal – told Kenshin all he needed to know. He felt a sense of impending sadness as the lift began its steady climb. He had no time to process his personal feelings on the matter, taken up as he was with the more pressing concerns that now made themselves known; the least of which being the employment of the small-minded receptionist on the ground floor.

Sakura. Who was the sort of person Katsura wouldn't have employed as a lunch lady, let alone the front line contact for the public.

Who had not been hired by Katsura, because Katsura was now dead.

It was not unexpected. The man had been ill for years and had refused, in the honoured way, to have his life extended artificially by surgical procedure. Aoshi's warning - combined with his sudden recall to Sumitomo - meant that the Data Acquisitions branch was undergoing drastic upheavals as a result of the power vacuum left behind in his wake. It had been Katsura's benevolence and guilt that had allowed Kenshin to stay away for so long; he doubted very much that whoever was replacing his former employer and mentor would feel much the same.

He was still under contract … and nobody was allowed to walk away from the _zaibatsu_.

Aoshi had endeavoured to warn him ahead of time so that he wouldn't be caught flat footed by the news when he walked into the board room; the secretive manner of that warning also served to point out that there was more bad news to come. If the former okashira felt the need to be that subtle, it indicated that the meeting he had been summoned to would be driven not by professionalism, but malice.

Therefore, when Kenshin stepped out of the lift on the 38th floor of Sumitomo Reception, he felt that he was adequately prepared for any surprise he could possibly meet.

He was wrong, as it turned out. Starting with the lazily amused words that floated through the air as he opened the door, delivered by the relaxed man at the head of the long table.

" _Hello, senpai_."

Kenshin narrowed his eyes. "Shishio."

Shishio Makoto cocked his head with a smile, tapping the cigarette ash into the tray before him. He'd had a haircut; the long, dark hair was cut to chin length and smoothed back behind his ears. Eyes that were almost crimson in colour regarded him with undisguised relish. "I would correct you to Shishio- _san_ , but I understand that today's meeting will probably be hard enough for you as it is. How have you been?"

 _Shishio-san, huh?_ Kenshin knew then, with a sinking feeling, exactly who Katsura's replacement was. He glanced around the room, regarding the occupants with a carefully blank look.

Many of the men and women here were those he recognised from his earlier days, back in the time he had still been proud to walk through the doors. Houji was seated – as always – to Shishio's right, flicking carefully through a sheaf of papers as if nothing else interested him. He wasn't a particularly good actor; his eyes burned with nervous anticipation.

Halfway down the table on the right hand side sat a man wearing a fastidious white suit. His sneer was only partially concealed by glasses that had to be merely for effect; a man this highly ranked in a _zaibatsu_ corporation would have more than enough finance for corrective surgery. Kenshin had never met him before; nevertheless, he'd heard enough about Kanryuu Takeda from Aoshi to know that this man was the new head of Sumitomo's Tokyo branch security team, and Aoshi's immediate superior.

Kenshin hesitated in the doorway, taking in the group and the sense of tension that already clung to the air. His eyes flicked to Shishio, and then to Houji, and he gave a faint smile. He heard the faint sound of the lift's chime down the corridor, an alert that other people had arrived on the floor. He knew who it would be. "I have been well," he said mildly. "I imagine that is about to change."

Shishio grinned toothily at him, lounging back in his chair. "Come in. You're blocking the entrance, and if I'm not mistaken the gentlemen behind you would like to secure the room. We can't have eavesdroppers, you understand."

"Of course not," he murmured, stepping inside as he heard footsteps approach.

Two more entrants; the first was, oddly, an unfamiliar boy of barely sixteen, dressed in the immaculate black of corporate security. His hair was dark brown and overdue for trimming; the boy lifted a hand to brush away bangs as he turned to give Kenshin a bright smile. "Welcome, Himura-san," he said cheerfully. His blue eyes seemed almost vacuous. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

He didn't wait for a response, but instead moved across the room to take a position against the wall behind Shishio. Kenshin watched him warily for a moment, before turning to glance at the second man. Who was, of course, Aoshi, closing the doors with a soft click before taking up a similar position on the opposite side of the room. He didn't so much as spare Kenshin a nod.

"First," Shishio said gravely, "It is my sad duty to inform you that my predecessor, Katsura Kogoro, has passed away in the early hours of this morning."

Kenshin took a small breath, letting it out carefully; he made a note to thank Aoshi later for having the grace to warn him beforehand. "Not unexpected. But rather sudden, I see." He kept his features carefully blank. "I would think Katsura-san would try to contact me."

If Shishio was disappointed by his lack of reaction, the man didn't show it. He merely shrugged, stubbing his cigarette out. "Apparently Katsura preferred dying alone. The doctor and his successor were all that were allowed to remain." He gave Kenshin a thoughtful smile. "Perhaps you slipped his mind. The disease did, after all, attack his memory."

 _So we're not even pretending to be nice about this?_ Kenshin swept his gaze around the room yet again, taking in the very carefully neutral expressions of most of those present. That was reassuring, at least; Shishio's rise to power was not accepted by all the department heads. He turned back to Shishio with a level stare. "I see," he said softly. "I suppose you'll use that same reason to explain why Katsura-san would nominate you as his replacement."

Shishio's own gaze was challenging. "His original choices were _unavailable_ ," he said bluntly. "As I worked directly under the original director, the Sumitomo delegate has appointed me to take the position. Temporarily, of course, until their investigation into the matter is complete."

 _Temporarily, hell._ He should have known the years couldn't have changed this man. Ambition and bloodshed were what Shishio Makoto thrived on. The Sumitomo family would launch a full investigation into the murder of their appointed staff; they might even be able to connect it in some fashion to Shishio. It was a sad fact of _zaibatsu_ corporate warfare, however, that to be found guilty of murdering one's colleagues wasn't necessarily a death sentence.

Not if one proved to be more effective in the position they were usurping.

"Won't you sit down?" Shishio invited.

"I'd rather stand."

"This is a meeting dealing with the restructuring of the DA division. It could take a while."

"With all due respect," Kenshin said flatly, "I don't want to be here. Perhaps you could focus on how these changes will affect me? I have important work to do."

"Show some respect!" Houji burst out, papers crumpling in his hands. "Shishio-san is your superior now, Himura! It doesn't matter how much Katsura let you run free, things are going to be different from now—"

"Houji."

One word was all it took. Shishio didn't even look particularly irritated. Nevertheless, Houji blanched and sank back down into his chair. "A-Apologies, Shishio-sama."

"Himura," Shishio continued smoothly, "I have some sympathy for your situation. I understand that Katsura knew what you … went through, and that was behind his decision to allow you to work outside the corporation as much as possible." He smiled. "However, this has made the Sumitomo family rather unhappy."

"I don't see why." Kenshin's voice was cool. "Katsura-san broke no contracts. I merely conducted more subtle investigations—"

"You are doing nothing more than wandering around the net smoothing out small trouble spots and unrest," Shishio interrupted. "I'd hardly call that a worthwhile use of your skills. That's the trouble. The Sumitomo find Katsura's waste of your abilities to be … shameful. They seek restitution."

"Like hell," he snapped.

Shishio ignored him, lips curling back into a grin full of satisfaction. "Effective immediately, you are being recalled. _Rurouni_."

Despite his self control, his fingers curled in on themselves. He'd thought his identity as the _Rurouni_ had been secure. Someone had clearly been spying on him before this. Kenshin fought down the urge to glance across at Aoshi and instead spoke casually, doing his best to give an impression of nonchalance. "They don't need me."

"You're under contract."

"They don't _need_ me," Kenshin insisted sharply. " _You_ were trained in my position. You can do anything I did." He narrowed his eyes. " _Don't tell me you wouldn't prefer it."_

"Anything I can do, you can do better," Shishio drawled, not even bothering to hide his mockery now. "According to Sumitomo." He held out a hand; Houji passed him the crumpled papers without comment. " _You_ are being reqqed because no other ICE programmer in all of Japan has ever designed something as lethally efficient as _Battousai_."

_As lethally efficient as—_

Sentry programs that killed were referred to as Black Ice. Unspeakably cold, a killer that lurked in the matrix pathways to deal murder to those foolish enough to enter without authorisation. Ice gripped him now; Kenshin forced his fists to uncurl, placing his hands carefully on the edge of the table. The room was quiet. He could see by the surprised looks on some of the junior members that his role in Battousai's creation hadn't been known by all; long standing company discipline kept them silent.

Katsura had promised him _never again_. And of course, Katsura's promise would count for nothing now that he was dead. The thought of that brought his grief dangerously close to the surface; of all places, he could _not_ show weakness here.

"Himura-san." He glanced up to meet the gaze of Kanryuu. The head of security was peering at him over the edge of his glasses with a smile so full of false sympathy Kenshin was tempted to leap over the table and break his jaw. "There is no need to be this wary of us. Your record thus far with Sumitomo is stellar. Starting at such a young age. A prodigy with a weapon, whether in _or_ out of the network. Even when you stepped down from R&D, your clean-up duties for Katsura were a work of art. Your operation with the street samurai was instrumental to the Act. And you can't say you aren't proud of your accomplishments with _Battousai_. I've seen the visuals. Such a successful program in your likeness has to be a great joy to you, surely."

"People change," he said faintly. He had been arrogant and very sure of himself back then. And stupidly naïve; no wonder Hiko had walked out on him in disgust. "That sentry routine should have been shut down long ago."

"It was for a time," Shishio mused. "Katsura fought to have it removed, though lord knows why. That man was far too soft on you, Himura. Thankfully, more rational minds prevailed. I suppose it will make you happy to know that a compromise was arrived at; _Battousai_ was relegated to the final defense wall of a mainframe already near impossible to hack into. It hasn't had much chance to do its job of late."

"That has to change," Kanryuu added. "Himura-san, have you heard of the Nanodust Project?"

Kenshin froze.

"Of course he has," Shishio said, voice sly. "Another thing Katsura fought down. Successfully, I might add, although with his death more avenues become open to us. The Nanodust Project has been reinstated. As such, we need to upgrade our security in full. This research, you must agree, cannot fall into the wrong hands."

 _It already_ has _fallen into the wrong hands._ He nearly opened his mouth to say so; heard a shuffle of movement as Aoshi shifted position against the wall, and then gritted his teeth instead. "You know that project contravenes human rights. The _zaibatsu_ may hold the influence and the economy, but even they draw the line at what you're proposing."

"It's for their own defense." Shishio grinned. "And we are naturally very careful of such rights. That is why DA has been so careful to restrict their research to volunteers."

"Your volunteers would have to be _children_ ," Kenshin snapped. "Anyone with a mature mind would be useless. Tell me how such _volunteers_ will understand exactly what you require of them before they sign their souls away."

"That doesn't concern you!" Houji snapped. "Your role in this isn't to question but to obey!"

This time Shishio let the outburst slide, instead choosing to regard Kenshin with a cool look. "I don't need to explain anything to you, _senpai_. Our roles have changed, and you have only yourself to blame. If you hadn't avoided the Sumitomo, you might have found yourself nominated in my place. In any case, I tire of this. Not to mention …" He gave an expansive wave around the board room. "…these people also need to be dealt with. Himura, your codes are needed to upgrade the _Battousai_ program and transfer it to a more efficient location. You will do this within the next 24 hours. After that, you will join Kanryu's normal security forces in the hunt for those that undermine the Sumitomo." His lip curled again. "I'll even give you your own squad."

"No."

Shishio raised an eyebrow. "That's a death sentence."

Kenshin straightened. "It may be."

Behind him, Aoshi didn't move. Silent, unmoving, indifferent. Ready.

Shishio gave a shrug. "That, I suppose, is your choice. However, consider this: in the aftermath of your death, the Sumitomo Corporation will have assumed you guilty of treason. Your every action will be cross examined." He smiled again, a flash of teeth. Kenshin decided irritably that the man smiled far too much. "The record of your transactions on the Net will be investigated."

The threat was clear. Kenshin had dealt with many that he officially shouldn't have, in order to net much bigger fish. The early morning meeting sprang to mind. Zanza; even Jouchan. Many before that, over the years. How long had they been tracing his actions?

"Given your history," Shishio said, "I will be lenient. There are other things we can accomplish in the meantime.

"You have five days to consider your choices. Adhere to company policy. Or," he gestured casually to Aoshi. "Commit seppuku, and damn your network. Either is fine with me. Until then, we'll count you as a civilian."

Kenshin smiled humourlessly, even as Aoshi's hand came down on his shoulder. "Rest assured. I will make the right choice."

"I've no doubt," Shishio retorted. "Now get out."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaoru checks her email and decides to visit an antique store, and Yahiko has a very rude awakening.

_**To:** 23452234 (fresnet) (encrypted)_  
 _**From:** 23452235 (fresnet) (encrypted)_  
 _**Subject:** (none)_

* * *

_There are three choices, not two. Whether the third is worth making or not, however, I am unsure. So, three questions:_

_How much of this did you see coming? How long have they been keeping tabs on me? How far into the research are they? You know what I mean. I don't want you involved any more than you already are, but I need to know the answers to this so that I may make my own decision on the matter. After that, it might be better for you to break contact with me. I understand your own dislike of the situation, but if I fall I do not wish to take you with me. You still have family to return to._

_Get back to me when you can._

_\-----_

_**To:** 23452235 (fresnet) (encrypted)_  
 _**From:** 23452234 (fresnet) (encrypted)_  
 _**Subject:** re: (none)_

* * *

_I knew only rumours. Much of the meeting was a surprise to me, also. However, I have done some research since. An outside source was contracted by Shishio to keep an eye on Rurouni perhaps five weeks ago, though they obviously knew of Rurouni's existence before then. Your skill with data protection will protect any you met before that time. Concentrate on more recent events._

_Research also shows that there were four children hired between ages 9 and 12 in the past two weeks. Their names are listed in employment records but their position and details are not available on a level 2 or 3 search. Further investigation shows they have been assigned to Research and Development and that two of the contracts have already been terminated. This would suggest that Shishio did not lie and that they have only just opened the project._

_What you do with this information is up to you. I shall act as I see fit regardless of your concern. I will keep this account open for further updates._

_\-----_

_**To:** Kaooooru-san!_  
 _**From:** Your favourite contractor_  
 _**Subject:** Oh my god this is too EASY_

* * *

_Hey! Thanks again for your um archaeological help with the Juice! angle. -nudgewink- I've transferred the agreed cred to your account. Don't spend it all at once! XD Oh hey, I do have more work coming up for you, but as requested I won't ask here! I'll post it on your super secret board, though I don't see why you're so worried. And I haven't seen you much this week. We still on for Friday?_

_\-----_

_**To:** MM_  
 _**From:** KK_  
 _**Subject:** The art of excavation_

* * *

_The sort of work you do against the Powers That Be and you couldn't be more subtle than that? You're just trying to get on my nerves. ;p I'm happy to take on more work for you. (Though I'm surprised you haven't asked me about a particular job, but I guess that's your call.)_

_I don't know about Friday yet. Dealing with some family stuff. I'll update you as I go._

_\-----_

_**To:** Kaooooru-san!_  
 _**From:** Your favourite contractor_  
 _**Subject:** re: The art of excavation_

* * *

_You must be tired, your sense of humour is shot. SLEEP, WOMAN! There, now that you've ignored me, I'm going to ask seriously: what's up? You've been really preoccupied this week. I know we haven't known each other long (well, outside the business field at any rate), but I am a bit worried. Family stuff? Everything okay? Is Yahiko falling in with the wrong crowd or something? (Did you notice I'm totally not answering that other question?) Let me know if I can help, okay?_

_\-----_

_**To:** Kamiya, Kaoru_  
 _**From:** SE (email withheld)_  
 _**Subject:** Family_

* * *

_Your brother is missing. You've tracked him to Sumitomo. I only tell you that so you know why I've sent you the following document. I hope you'll find it useful._

_\- a friend_

_(encl)_

_\-----_

_**To:** SS_  
 _**From:** KK_  
 _**Subject:** re: Family_

* * *

_Sano, I'm coming by to see you at the store tomorrow. DON'T mess me around this time. This is seriously important, and if you're not there I will NEVER talk to you again EVER. Come prepared for "that thing you do"._

_Please. Don't let me down on this one._

_\- Kaoru_

_\------------_

**The Zaibatsu Project** ____  
__ _ _

Lesser Tokyo could be a real maze if you weren't familiar with it; even people who'd lived there all their lives occasionally took a wrong turn or a short cut and found themselves lost. Sometimes irrevocably, given the patchwork culture and turf rights to be found there. The police – still somewhat effective at this end of the scale – would do their best to steer street crime to acceptable levels or take a payoff to turn their backs. Whichever suited the individual officer's disposition, really.

Given this, it was still possible to live in many parts of Lesser Tokyo and continue an average life with nothing more than average interruptions and average danger. Kaoru, for example, lived uptown in one of the huge complexes that reminded Sano of a tin of sardines. She had her own little studio apartment (hole in the wall, he called it) surrounded by hundreds of other identical places, small and plain and barely big enough for one. She'd lived in a better place once, before her dad died and the law came down and took the dojo away. The complex was a safe enough area, though, even if it was a tight squeeze.

Sano lived _down_ town.

Lovely place.

Once you hit Sano's stretch of the woods, there was no point trying to drive. Too many people crowded the sidewalks, spilling over into the road; everyone from hurrying businessmen to homeless pickpockets, the random oddball with doomsday signs, the street walkers or yakuza sentries. You could still see the street samurai in a few places, thinned out and no more effective than the guttergangs they'd sprung from. Still with their topknots and their tattoos and those sharp, archaic swords ... hell, a katana was never going to go out of fashion, not here.

A lot of business was conducted on the street here, almost all of it illegal. The legitimate people had long diverted to using the Net for their transactions. If you came here hoping to buy something, it certainly wasn't going to be your groceries. Although he supposed it was possible that people would still visit the pawn shops, if they'd a mind to.

Sano owned an antique store, in the most literal sense. The sign above the door said 'antiques', but if there was still some century old piece of furniture lurking in the store, it had long since been buried under a pile of books or other assorted clutter. To be fair, he'd once made an effort to sort the junk out and price it, but there wasn't much point. For a start, he'd been accused of not knowing a Ming vase from a tofu bucket, which was close to the mark (if not entirely true.)

For another, nobody came to see him to buy the junk cluttering up the shop. If anyone walked through the door, they were either lost, trying to avoid the freaks with the sharp pointy sticks on the other side of the road, or they came to buy the other stuff that _wasn't_ advertised and never would be. In fact, Sano didn't bother putting out the OPEN sign most days; some days he didn't bother coming to the store at all.

Unless he was expecting company.

There was a dusty glass counter at one end that served as his sale point, filled with small odds and ends like miniature ships, dice and old marbles. Sano sat in the old plush chair, wedged between the counter and the back wall rack of replica knives, and waited, with a vague sense of dread, for his day to get complicated.

\---------

The door opened with a creak, letting a sliver of early morning sunlight in through the drapes. It wasn't open for long; the small figure that let herself in turned and almost slammed it shut again, driving the lock home. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and worn jeans; she had a small backpack slung over one shoulder. Her dark hair was up in a simple ponytail – how long had it been since he'd seen her wear ribbons? - and those same damn sunglasses were perched on her head. He blinked as Kaoru turned, found him in the gloom and limped toward the counter with a look of grim determination.

The dim lighting nearly hid how exhausted she looked. 'Nearly' being the right word; her face was far too pale, making the shadows under her eyes look much deeper. No wonder she was wearing dark glasses everywhere.

Sano winced, running a hand through his hair. "What happened to your ankle?"

"I fell," she said shortly, finally making it to the counter. Kaoru slung the bag off her shoulder and dropped it onto the glass. From the look of it, the backpack was empty. Sano stared, mystified, as she fished in the back pocket of her jeans for a moment, before finding what she was looking for.

A moment later, she slapped her cred card down on the counter and drew a ragged breath. "I need supplies."

"Thanks for asking, Sano," he said sourly. He didn't like the fevered look in her eyes, or the way her hands shook slightly. He couldn't work out whether she was terrified or just overtired or … or about to do something very stupid. Of course, given this was Kaoru it could be a combination of all three. "How are you today? When are you coming round for dinner next? I haven't seen you in _ages—"_

"Oh, very funny," she snapped. "I never invited you over to begin with, slacker."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Glad to see you're still you under that whole 'fugitive' look you've got going."

She smiled wearily at him. "I'm just tired."

 _I noticed._ He'd seen her like this a lot of late; too much to do, too little time to do it. She was going to burn out if she wasn't careful. If she hadn't already. He was sure now, watching her visibly search for the right words. Something serious was going on; above and beyond the fact that the kid was still missing.

"Sano." Kaoru's eyes were focused on the cred card. "I need to upgrade."

"Why? You've got top of the line software already." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Don't tell me it bugged on you."

"No. I just need something different for a job."

"What's the job?"

Kaoru glared at him in irritation. "You've never asked me that before. And you know I can't tell you. Privacy contract."

"Who's the job for?" he asked stubbornly.

"Didn't you hear me?"

Sano sighed. "So what do you want?"

Kaoru took a deep breath. "The worm programs I have will do. I need …" She trailed off for a moment, staring back down at her hands again before she finally lifted her head, blue eyes serious. "Cookie Crumbs. Best copy you have of the Galaxy Bounce. Any delay tactics or doppelganger programs you can think to—"

He was on his feet. "No way."

"Sano," she said steadily, "I'm here as a customer."

"I don't care," he snarled, stabbing a finger at her chest, ignoring the furious look on her face. Hell with that; he was pretty damn angry himself. "Do you think I'm stupid? Jou-chan, GB is too powerful a program for the sort of stunts you pull off, and Cookie Crumbs is Black Ops all the way. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She lifted her chin, eyes blazing. "Fixing your mistake."

"My mistake--?"

He blinked, staring down at her as she slammed her hands down on the counter, leaning forward to glare at him up close. "You don't have the right to bar me from doing what I need to. Do you put any of your other customers through this?"

"I don't know any of my other customers personally," he retorted. "What mistake?"

"Dammit, Sano!" she yelled. "I need to find Yahiko!"

Oh. _That_ mistake. One he hadn't forgotten, given how angry she'd been, but he hadn't really thought Yahiko's job interview had much to do with … with …

 _Oh, hell._ Sano covered his face. He wasn't sure which one of them was the bigger idiot. "Jou-chan," he said, almost calmly, words muffled by the palm of his hand. "Tell me you're not doing a corporation run."

Kaoru bit her lip and glanced away.

Sano made a strangled sound and reached forward to grab her by the shoulders."Are you _mad_? You're not good enough to get past the—"

"You have no concept of how good I am!" Kaoru snapped, trying to shrug him off. "Have I ever been tagged before this?"

 _"Zaibatsu_ play a whole different game and you know it," he said evenly. "You wouldn't even get past the outer shell."

"I don't have to." To his surprise, she reached into her front pockets and brought out a crumpled piece of paper, tossing it lightly in front of him. "Look at this."

He gave her a searching look before picking the paper up, smoothing it out with his fingers. The paper was mostly blank, except for two rows near the top; nothing that made sense to him. A string of numbers and symbols; a code of some kind.

"I got sent this yesterday," she said softly.

"Who by?"

"Someone I …" She paused, then gave a vaguely sheepish smile. "…Well, I don't know."

"That's reassuring," he said wryly. "What is it?"

"Clearance codes." She rushed on before he could interrupt. "I ran a dummy check. They're legitimate. As far as I know, contractor codes to bypass the outer network."

He didn't ask which outer network; that much was obvious. But then, he had other more important things on his mind. "Which just happened to get sent to you. Who have you told about Yahiko's interview?"

"Nobody." Her voice was soft, forehead creased in a frown.

"Great!" he said brightly. "Then here's what you do, Jou-chan. You don't do _shit_ until you've gone through your own records and chat logs and found out who hacked in and decided to be oh so benevolent to you. Anonymous people don't generally mean well."

"Sano, the codes work!"

"Great!" he repeated. "So it's some deranged ex-contractor with a grudge? They won't be doing it for your sake!" He was on the verge of yelling; Sano gritted his teeth and made an effort to sound more reasonable. "Look … even putting that aside, the outer shell is just their first line of defense. Those things are put together like an onion and they're created by lunatics. You really think you're going to be able to find anything before you get your system fried? Or even your brain?" He couldn't resist a snort. "What there is of it?"

"I don't know, but I have to try!" she said angrily. "Sano, he got a job there and they won't let me talk to him!"

"So? Look …" He raised a hand hastily as her eyes widened in outrage. "Okay, no, that was harsh. But … _Kaoru_." He was gentle. "Is it possible that he's just gone into some sort of training or orientation and can't contact anyone right now?"

"I thought that might be the case." To his dismay, her voice was shaking. Sano looked away guiltily. "But then I did some more searching, Sano. I … hacked into the … into IDD."

He yelped. "You WHAT!?"

"Oh, would you stop?" At least she sounded more irritable than miserable now. "I told you, I know what I'm doing."

"Aside from giving me a heart attack," Sano said between his teeth, "why did you do that?"

"You know as well as I do," she retorted. "Sumitomo would have noticed Yahiko doesn't have a personal ID chip, right? They'd get him outfitted straight away if he'd been hired."

"Yeah," Sano said, slowly. "You're right."

Every employee of any _zaibatsu_ was a good little soldier and consented to ID chipping. Hell, most people had one anyway to access the Net. That Kaoru had decided to hack into the Tokyo Identification Directory was frightening; the security for the place was only a step or two below the family corporations. She was good. Or lucky. And it would also be why she looked so exhausted now; he had no idea how long it would take to sort through so many millions of data strings, but it wasn't a two minute operation, that was for sure.

"He's nowhere in the database, Sano." Kaoru was quiet. "If he got a job, they're not bothering to set him up with corporate identification. What does that tell you?"

 _It tells me you're desperate, for one._ He didn't ask if she could be mistaken; she would have double checked, maybe even triple checked. And the chipping would have taken place before any training. Yahiko was being treated as a non-entity. For whatever reason; the only thing that really came to mind was the fact that they wouldn't bother with an ID chip if they didn't expect him to be there long.

Which wasn't good, no matter how he looked at it.

"Damn," he said softly. "Jou-chan, I'm sorry. I should've called him on it." At the very least, ignored his request for secrecy and let her know where he was going. Sano _liked_ Yahiko. A lot, though he'd never admit it. But the kid had wanted so much to surprise her—

"You should've," Kaoru agreed, interrupting his thoughts. She gave a tired shrug. "But he'd have done it anyway."

"Just like you, right?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Jou-chan …" He gave a helpless wave of his hand. "You can't do this. You're good, but you're not A-list. All you've done so far is small time operations and information digs for people like the weasel, right?" Okay, IDD was impressive, but it still wasn't on par. And IDD didn't make a habit of frying a hacker's brain; they settled for a trace and tag. IDD wouldn't kill her out of hand—

"I'm better than that," she said stubbornly. "I can get into small time corporate stuff…"

"Small time corporate isn't the same as _zaibatsu_ corporate and you know it. Look, let me look … lemme find another way for you." He tried to sound coaxing. "Katsu probably knows someone who's good enough to crack Sumitomo."

"Yeah, probably," she grinned. "With a price tag attached that I can't possibly meet."

"We can get you a discount." His mouth twisted. "Hell, _I'll_ pay for it."

"Sano, you can't pay it either. Don't tell me you can. Look …" She hesitated. "Yahiko wasn't your responsibility anyway, he's mine. So I'll deal with this."

"The hell you will." He crossed his arms. "I'm not giving you that stuff."

She glared, crossing her own arms in imitation. "Fine. I'll run without it."

"You—" He resisted the urge to grab her by the shirt and shake her. Somehow. "Are you totally out of your mind!?"

"If you won't help me, I'll try anyway," she said determinedly. "I came to see you because Katsu is brilliant and his software might give me enough of an edge to get through this in one piece. But you're right. I'll do it anyway."

"You'll get killed, you idiot!"

" _He's my brother!_ " She broke off, ducking her head, staring back down at the card on the counter. "I'm all he's got," she added.

Sano sank back down into his chair, hand over his eyes. "You know," he said dourly, "I should just tape you to a chair until you see reason."

She didn't say anything; merely swallowed, staring down at the card and the backpack on the desk. Her hand reached out to pick the card up and slide it back into her pocket. She'd leave in another minute. He knew her well enough to know she wasn't bluffing.

If she walked out, it'd be the last time he saw her alive.

"Kaoru." He met her eyes. "I'm asking you seriously here, as a friend. Don't do this."

"I have to," she said finally. "Nobody else will. Sano …" She hesitated, and then gave him a faint, almost pleading smile. "Trust me. I don't intend to charge blindly in there. I have a couple of ideas. If it gets to the point that I know I can't go further, then I'll stop. I promise."

"Fine," he drawled. "Then you can promise me a couple other things as well. How bad is your ankle?"

"Ankle?" She blinked at him in surprise. "It's just … it'll probably be okay by tomorrow. Only hurts a little."

"Okay." Sano sighed. "You'll get your software." He ignored the sudden dawning hope on her face. "I'll get you the best your money can buy. I'll throw in some boosters as well. How much do you have?"

"I got paid last night." She drew out the card again, holding it out, blue eyes full of gratitude. "Use what you need."

"All right." He took the card, then tapped her on the forehead with it. "Conditions. Go home. Put your ankle up. Don't use that computer tonight. Let it cool. Rest. You aren't doing this until you're well rested and your ankle will take your weight. You got that?"

Kaoru hesitated. "I don't know if I have the time."

"Make the time," he said flatly. "I know you're worried, but if you fuck this up because you're too burnt out and slip on a judgment call, you'll be dead and Yahiko won't get any help. Promise me, Jou-chan."

She nodded, face solemn. Good, she got the common sense of that, at least. "I promise."

"Good." He didn't want to dwell on his own instructions too long. She didn't need a sturdy ankle to run the Net. She did, however, need it to run. If she screwed up. If she got that much of a chance.

Sano closed his eyes and swore softly to himself. This was too dangerous, no matter how he looked at it.

"Anything else?"

He made up his mind. "You bet. Call me before you do this."

"What?"

He met her surprised gaze. "Call me. Exactly what I said. You don't do a _zaibatsu_ run unless I'm running backup." He held up a hand to forestall argument. "I won't try and stop you. I'll … lurk on your couch and read a magazine."

He would lurk, all right. And he'd watch. And he'd keep an eye on the board readouts and the street outside, and hell with his own reputation; if things started to go pear-shaped, he'd yank her out of VR so fast he'd be halfway down the street with her over one shoulder before she realised she wasn't connected anymore. Whether she'd survive being yanked out of VR was a moot point; if they got to the point it was necessary, her chances were pretty slim anyway.

"Sano—"

"You might need me."

Kaoru stared at him a long moment. And then sighed. "I promise."

He grinned wryly. "You're still an idiot. But whatever." He stood, stretching his arms, then reached out casually to the replica rack behind him and pulled down on the fake _kukri_ knife. The carefully concealed, narrow door behind the counter opened with a soft click. Well, a guy could never be too careful in his line of work. Plus, secret entrances were kind of nifty.

"Step into my office," he said. "Let's see what I can do about getting us both killed."

\---------

He could hear a rasping sound, dry and rough like sandpaper. The noise sawed at his nerves and made him clutch weakly at the thin coverlet. He didn't want to open his eyes. He had vague recollection that the last time he had, the light had made everything worse. Which was Kaoru's fault, of course. She had no business opening the curtains this early, and as far as he was concerned she shouldn't have been out of bed herself. He knew exactly what time she went to bed at night – or fell off the chair, depending on how busy she was – wasn't that why he was doing this? Not out of any sense of caring, of course. All he wanted to do was make her quit _complaining_ about things, so that he, Yahiko, could stop feeling guilty about not helping out.

He curled up a little more, shivering slightly, and opened his mouth, intent on demanding she close the damn curtains already. And then, between one harsh breath and the next, he remembered where he was.

Yahiko opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. The room was bright white and harshly lit, leaving no corner to shadow. A small sound escaped him as pain stabbed behind his eyelids, and he pressed his hands flat across his face, staying perfectly still. The needling agony ebbed away far too slowly. It occurred to him that he must have been very sick. Still was, if the faint blipping sound he could now hear was any indication. A bright room and single bed and some sort of monitoring equipment; had he fainted at his interview? Was he in some corporate hospital?

 _No way. It can't have been at the interview. I passed. Didn't I?_ He remembered that much. He couldn't remember much else. He'd probably walked out and fallen down the stairs or something. Hit his head. That would explain the …

"Kaoru?" he croaked. No answer. She wasn't ...

No Lesser Tokyo hospital would be this …

…he was drifting.

… lack of memory.

No, he was more than drifting. Something was very wrong. Thoughts were scattering too fast, too quick for him to grasp. And Kaoru wasn't _here_ , she didn't even know where he was, and he was beginning to think he'd done something very stupid.

…very, very …

 _Concentrate_. Yahiko gritted his teeth and rolled out of bed. He hadn't meant to roll, actually; springing out was more his style, but the thin blanket was tangled around him and he found too late that he didn't have the strength to do more than fall to the ground. The fall was longer than he'd anticipated; the slap of his rubbery limbs hitting the cold floor was painful enough to shatter his concentration. He didn't know how long he curled on the floor, hands clutching at his head. By the time he realised he was doing it, he was shuddering with cold himself. Everything hurt to the touch; his skin felt like it had been turned inside out and stretched over a fire. There was a faint trickle of warmth on his upper lip. Maybe he was just feverish. If his temperature was high enough, he wouldn't think straight; he knew that from experience. And if he was in such a clean hospital, didn't …hadn't he signed something about health cover? Maybe he was reading far more into this than …

He heard the door slide back and opened his eyes to slits, shifting his gaze across the floor, watching as polished, black shoes crossed steadily over the tiles, stopping beside him. A moment later, warm hands lifted him by the waist and settled him back on the edge of the bed, and he blinked, staring blearily into the face of a man he didn't recognise. Tousled hair gone steely grey, although the man's thin face was young enough that it didn't seem right. The grey matched his bloodshot eyes. A white lab-coat. _Doctor?_ Yahiko stared dubiously at his benefactor, and only flinched when the man grinned, revealing far too many teeth, and reached forward with one gloved finger to brush under Yahiko's nose.

"It didn't quite take this time, I see," he said as he pulled back and wriggled his hand. Blood stained the white tip of his finger, and he chuckled. "But we have all the time in the world to improve, don't we, Yahiko-chan?"

He couldn't focus. The blood meant nothing to him. Nevertheless, the glee in the man's voice touched off panicked recollection of how he'd come to be here. Confusion crystallized into horror; Yahiko swung wildly at the man's face. His fist glanced across one gaunt cheek with all the force of ricepaper, but it didn't matter. All he wanted was enough of a distraction to make it to the door. And he tried, quite valiantly, but his body refused to cooperate; he would have tripped over his own feet if a hand hadn't wrapped around his arm like a vice and yanked him back to the bed. The man was strong. Another arm pushed down on his chest to hold him there.

"L'ggo!" he finally managed.

"Not yet," was the amused reply. "On the other hand, I am well pleased by your level of energy. Perhaps this means you shall survive after all."

_Hell, no. If I survive this, she's going to kill me …_

There was a sharp prick as a needle was inserted into his flesh. After that, Yahiko felt nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoshi plays chess and Kaoru breaks a promise.

_The introduction of Virtual Reality headsets to the mainstream computer user in 2015 revolutionised the entire process of surfing the web. While VR had been a concept as early as 1928, it had been mainly utilized between 1960-1990 as either military experimentation or sideshow novelty. Once modified for general use, however, it became a source of great exploration for the average household. Those who had once been restricted to reading information from their monitor could now immerse themselves fully into the world of cyberspace and experience it – sight, sound and touch – as a whole new plane of existence. The World Wide Web was overturned and remodelled to compliment the new VR interface, making a full 86 percent of all consistently visited sites into a virtual world of their own. The digital pornography industry boomed as a result. Many chat sites became fully interactive, providing a social meeting point for the many millions of people who could comfortably hide behind their designated avatar and begin a secondary, more exciting life. For many involved, it was intoxicating._

_It didn't take long for technology to take the next step. 2017 saw the development of a microprocessor human-nerve interface which greatly increased the "intelligence" of computers. The human-nerve interface added taste and smell to the array of senses that could be submerged into cyberspace. AI programs sprang up in many different locations, highly intelligent and many of them self-learning, only adding to the belief that the web – now known only as the Net – was truly a world of its own and not an illusion. Over the next few years, the interface was integrated with the ID chip, and the VR set – considered obsolete and mostly incompatible from the beginning of the massive upgrade – was declared illegal to use._

_There were publicised reasons for this; that the VR set did not rely on the ID chip to function was the major one. The security of the Net depended greatly on having full knowledge of where each individual was at any given time. With the true coming of the Information Age, computer hackers were far more numerous than ever before, though hacking was now referred to as_ _netrunning_ _; the very fact that they were forced to undergo the ID process in order to access the Net made their job far more challenging._

_However, there were also very private reasons. With the design of the human-nerve interface came the new generation of defensive programs and security measures to protect a corporation's administration, funds and secrets; it wasn't long after 2017 before the first ICE (Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics) was created, largely in the form of huge walls and code gates in the tunnels of corporate cyberspace that were impossible to get through without the right sort of programs. Technology entered an 'arms race' on both sides of the legal fence; the more underground revolutionaries created their anti-corporation offensive, anti-trace and virus software for the netrunners, the more lethal steps the_ _zaibatsu_ _took to protect what was theirs. The closer a netrunner came to their core, the more likely they were to run against 'black ICE' – sentry programs that were not designed to protect the corporation from hackers, but rather ruthlessly destroy any intruders. Just as many sci-fi movies had shown to the public, a netrunner's death online meant a death for the body left behind, as the neural system was attacked and scrambled beyond all repair._

_Whether this murderous software was legal or not became a moot point as the_ _zaibatsu_ _assumed their full power over the government and economy. The one real point to be made was this: that unlike the human-nerve interface, the VR set did not fully acclimatise the body's nervous system to the realm of cyberspace. With heavy modification, it was possible to still access the Net with a VR set; however, the powers that be were unsure on whether their ICE programs could be fully effective against a netrunner whose neural patterns could be easily yanked out of reach by the simple act of throwing the VR set across the room._

_It was the anomaly of Kaoru's heavily modified VR set, combined with her own unconventional means of sneaking through the cyber pathways, which would save her life._

\---------

Corporate politics, Aoshi had decided long ago, was like chess.

Neither Shishio nor Himura were fools. They had worked together in the past, long enough for each of them to know how the other's mind worked. Shishio would know that Himura would seek another way out of the dilemma presented in the boardroom, a way to avoid both unpleasant alternatives and almost certainly cause as much trouble for Shishio as he could in the process. And of course, Himura rarely underestimated his opponents. In all the years Aoshi had known him, the redhead had only ever misjudged one man … and that had been Aoshi himself; a fight that seemed decades ago, now.

Himura would know that Shishio knew. Would even suspect Shishio was _counting_ on that fact; if Himura rebelled, after all, Shishio would be able to wipe him from the playing board with the Sumitomo family's blessing, despite Himura's previous achievements. And Shishio, in exchange, might also be aware …

… in chess, the greatest chance of victory was not found in which move you made, but how many moves ahead you could _plan_.

"What do you think he will do?"

The question was not aimed at him. Aoshi leaned quietly against the wall inside the door with his arms folded, his face carefully impassive. The only reason he was here at all was because Kanryuu had brought him to this meeting. The man never went anywhere without a bodyguard, even within the confines of his own building. Ironic, that the head of security was such a coward.

"Himura won't roll over for us," Shishio mused with satisfaction. "In some ways, it would be easier for Sumitomo if he did; the Battousai program is nearly impossible to crack without the original codes. R&D is still working on it, though they are making progress. Of course, their priority is elsewhere right now."

"I didn't ask what he _won't_ do," Kanryuu snapped. "Security doesn't need to prepare for what he _won't_ do. You know him better than anyone. Tell me."

"I'm not so sure about that." The new Director leaned back in his chair with a faint smile. "But to allay your fears, I suppose I shall share what I think. Himura is one man. He is very good at what he does, but even he can't take on the _zaibatsu_ , not if he rallied half of Lesser Tokyo to his side. Which he cannot do. He's marked to them. If I'm not mistaken, quite a few of the yakuza groups would as soon kill him on sight. So … whatever he does, he does alone. That limits his options."

"Hm." Kanryuu sounded unimpressed. "That doesn't mean he won't try his hand at something less …confrontational."

"Oh, I agree. He's likely to try more subtle tactics."

Shishio lapsed into silence a moment, apparently lost in thought. The three of them were alone in the room; even Shishio's pet valium addict wasn't here. Aoshi shifted slightly against the wall, lifting his gaze, not bothering to hide his interest in the conversation now. He had already foreseen what Shishio would say next. Kanryuu gave him a quick glance, but said nothing; he may not have been particularly brave, but the man was sharp.

 _I'm not so sure about that_.

Indeed.

"Shinomori." Shishio caught his gaze with a smile that seemed far too casual. "You've known Himura for a long time. If I'm not mistaken, you had quite a grudge against the man."

"I do not let my personal feelings colour my duty," Aoshi said, voice cold.

"For which you are commended," Shishio replied dryly. "Nevertheless, out of the three of us here, you have worked both with _and_ against him. What do you think he will do now?"

It was an interesting question; one he gave a lot of thought to before answering. The fact that Aoshi had long since made peace with Himura was a secret carefully kept; even so, he could not afford to misstep here. Aoshi was a cautious man. Just because Shishio appeared to accept his feud with Himura at face value did not mean the man did not suspect otherwise.

"I believe you are correct," he said at last. "From my observations in the board room, Himura still holds the Sumitomo family itself in high regard; even if he had the resources, I doubt he would attempt to cripple the company in any major way. _You_ on the other hand … Himura does not like you, and he clearly does not approve of what you are doing with the department."

"So." Shishio smiled. "You think he will attack me?"

"Not quite," Aoshi murmured. _Go softly. You are not meant to know all you know._ "He has been out of the corporate loop for some time; I doubt he will attempt to lift a weapon against you directly. However …"

Kanryuu frowned. "However _what_? Don't stop there."

Aoshi inclined his head in apology. "If Himura is still as … idealistic as he was, he may attempt to shut down your projects." He met Shishio's eyes with total honesty. "He is skilled, as Kanryuu said, either on or off a computer, and dangerous enough that Katsura-san gave him what he wanted without question. Are you asking for my advice?"

"Of course." Shishio nodded gravely. "You _are_ Kanryuu's second, after all."

He paused again, schooling his face back to a neutral mask. Then he spoke without emotion. "Step up security in the R&D labs, particularly around the Nanodust Project. Ensure each researcher undergoes biometric confirmation with a handheld scanner before entering the lab, and assign a guard to each non-combatant. Do _not_ enter this order into any computer. You will be more than prepared."

They stared at him. Kanryuu was clearly approving, with no small measure of relief mixed into his gaze; he was already reaching for his phone. Shishio seemed more curious than anything else, chin balanced on one hand as he scrutinized Aoshi with an air of amusement.

He resisted the urge to clench his fists. His words might have damned anything Himura would attempt … but there was a fine line he could walk, here. And in the end, there were more than just two players on the board.

"You _don't_ like him, do you?" Shishio said softly. "That is … to be expected, I suppose, given what he has taken from you."

"As I said, my personal feelings do not—"

"If you say so." He leaned back, fishing a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. "Shinomori, I like you. And your plan is sound. Kanryuu will see that it is carried out. I am reassigning you; report to Jinei and place yourself under his direct orders." His lip curled. "You can oversee these arrangements yourself."

_Check._

"Shishio-sama!" Kanryuu stood up, looking alarmed. "Shinomori is my—"

"Take Soujiro instead," Shishio interrupted. "It is only fair, after all, that we give Shinomori a chance to settle his _own_ grudges." He smirked at Aoshi. "You may go."

Aoshi gave a short bow and left the room.

He wasn't altogether sure if he had won that one.

\---------

 __ **To:** SS  
 **From:** KK  
 **Subject:** You sure about this?  


* * *

_I appreciate your concern, but this is my job and I can take care of myself. I'm giving you an option to back out. But … as promised, if you insist on being here, I'll meet you tomorrow at the store after I see Misao and we'll get some dinner or something before heading back here. (No, I won't cook it, you ass. I'll treat you, just this once.)_

_If you can't meet earlier, I'm looking to run just before midnight. I suppose you'll ignore the whole 'take care of myself' thing, so I'll see you tomorrow._

_Talk to you soon,_

_Kaoru_

\---------

She honestly didn't know if Sano would buy that. Probably; she wasn't really in the habit of breaking promises. As an apology for the lie, she had followed her first promise to the letter and spent two days resting her ankle. The only time she had accessed the computer was to check her mail and place an unavailability form on the BBS. For now, Kaoru-the-netrunner was unavailable.

 _Leaving only … Kaoru the very sleepy_. She poked her tongue out at her reflection. Honestly, she'd had more sleep in the past two days than in the past week combined; it hadn't removed the dark circles, but there was more colour to her face, at least. In the end, even if Sano hadn't made her promise, she would have caught up on as much sleep as possible beforehand. There was no point starting a dive tottering on lack of rest.

Especially one that would take most of the night. At least.

And here she was preparing for it like she was going on a _date_.

 _No, that's not quite it._ She moved away from the mirror, toweling her hair dry. _It's called stalling, Kaoru. Delay all you like, it won't change what you have to do._ _And tonight, unless you really_ do _want Sano here._

She trusted Sano. She also didn't want him anywhere near the place when she broke enough laws to get her executed on sight; if she was lucky enough for that. She knew all too well the horror stories that circulated around black ice. She didn't want him to get into trouble. She didn't want Sano to … _see_ … if things went horribly wrong.

Her ankle was holding fine; the injury hadn't been so bad, after all. She supposed she should thank the redhead on the stairs for that. And of course, she'd yelled at him instead … Kaoru scowled as she slipped her shoes on. She was trying not to feel guilty. He _did_ work for Sumitomo after all, that much was plainly obvious. But lashing out at strangers was not like her; he'd even offered her an umbrella and she'd acted like a child.

Hell with it. She'd blame Yahiko for that, too.

 _Stupid, stupid kid._ She lifted the wooden chair from the kitchen and spun it around, wedging it under the handle to the one and only door into her apartment, then shot all three of the locks home. Quite apart from added privacy, it would give her maybe an extra five seconds if she needed it. _Zaibatsu_ enforcers – corporate meat – had a forty second response time to threats, on average.

If she was tagged, she'd have that much time to get out.

She was reasonably confident that living in such a huge, populated complex would stop them from doing anything more damaging than just sending a team after her. The others in the complex should be safe if the worst happened. And there were other ways to escape the apartment other than the door...

…and here she was, treating the whole thing like she'd already messed up. Kaoru paused to take a nervous breath, clenching her hands into fists. _Okay. It's common sense to plan for the worst. I'm dressed to run, I've bought time. Stop thinking about it. Look on the bright side; if the worst actually does happen, you won't need to run anyway because you'll already be dead._ Sure, now there was a good way to boost confidence. She was beginning to think she couldn't do this; no, that she'd been three kinds of stupid to even consider it as an option. She glanced over to the computer, biting her lip. She _hadn't_ done this before. Maybe she should quit while she still had other options—

There was a small blip flashing in the top corner of the screen. Mail alert. For lack of anything more than wanting a distraction, she reached out, tapping the confirmation key.

_**To:** Jou-chan_   
_**From:** SS_   
_**Subject:** What's that stand for anyway, Sexy Sano?_

* * *

_Don't glare at me like that. Look, kiddo … it really is okay to back out of this. You have to be thinking that right about now, right? But yeah, okay, you're your own woman or something like that. I'll take you up on that offer of dinner, seeing as I never got one of those before. (Special occasion, that. Don't think you're gonna use it to talk me out of this.) But try not to look so much like a fugitive from the law or something. ;p Think of my reputation! Anyway, yeah. See you at 6 at the store. And you better not go into this half assed._

\---------

"Fugitive from the _law_?" she muttered. "Real funny, Sagara Sanosuke. Thanks a whole bunch."

Nevertheless, she felt calmer. Sort of. Maybe a little. She gave the screen a mock salute and then vanished into her bedroom, rifling through the drawers of the dresser until she found what she was looking for. She wound the ends of the pink ribbon around her ponytail, tying it into a neat bow. _There. Now I can be a fugitive from the law, easily marked by her pretty pink ribbon. Happy now?_

She returned to the computer and upended the black backpack, shaking out its contents. _Galaxy Bounce_ and _Cookie Crumbs_ were the only two she hadn't used before. But she knew how they worked. Kaoru took a breath and slid into the seat, fingers flying over the keys, exiting out of the desktop.

_Okay. Deep breaths._

**_-Creating resource tag General  
-Creating resource tag Internal  
-Creating buffer Autodetect  
-Installing Galaxybounce.exe_**  
…  
…  
…  
…  
… _**installation complete**_  
 **** _///autorun? Y/N Y_  
…  
…  
…

She slid the tactile gloves on as the visor slid down over her face, giving her a momentary illusion of double vision as the key commands flickered from the screen to the display before her eyes. Sound distorted and then vanished as the ear pieces slid home. She swallowed to adjust to the pressure, and waited.

**_-Executing Galaxybounce.exe_ **   
_**///Switch to voice activation? Y/N** _

"Yes." Her voice sharpened. "Visual display, _Galaxy Bounce_."

The world opened up before her; a global map in flaring white on a pitch dark landscape. Her supposed location was already flickering across Sweden and heading south across the map before bouncing again, opening up a fine network of connected lines constantly crossing over each other. Kaoru sighed; it was a good sign. _Galaxy Bounce_ was the best anti-trace program currently on the market. Another major time buyer, and if she jacked out before they found her _actual_ location, so much the better.

"Install _Cookie Crumbs_ ," she instructed the interface. "Execute. Time spike set at 120 seconds, then at 25 second intervals."

**_-Installing Cookiecrumbs.exe_ **

Her hands closed over the butt of the needle gun, and she drew it out of the backpack, placing the barrel to her neck, pulling the trigger before she could muster too much thought to flinch. Booster shot; medical concoction that made caff look like a nice cup of warm milk. It would keep her senses alert and sharp and - in the event of an overly long run – awake for another two days. She was going to need _that_ , too. Her other hand closed around the small, metal tube only slightly larger than a sailcloth needle, catching it between two fingers and holding it steady.

**_-Executing Cookiecrumbs.exe_ **   
__**/// 120  
/// 119  
/// 118**

_It's time._

She took a deep breath.

_Oh, shit._

Let it out again. Voice steady.

"Dive."


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deep dive of Kamiya Kaoru. Also known as: Netrunning 101.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in which the author shows she knows absolutely nothing about hacking. JUST GO WITH IT, OKAY.

He still felt ill. Actually, that was a ridiculous understatement. The second time he'd woken up, he'd thought he was _dying_. Fever chased the light away and twisted everything he could feel. The steady blip of the monitors distorted into shrill screaming; the needle in his arm was a long, jagged claw digging for his blood. The man who kept coming back to stare at him seemed a demon, grinning at him with rotting fangs, his eyes soulless and full of shadow. He remembered shrinking away, only to have a cool hand lay gently across his forehead, driving the heat away for a few blessed moments before the demon turned and left.

He was lucid now. It took him a while to realise it. When Yahiko finally woke up, he was staring vaguely at the same bright ceiling of before. The blanket was folded neatly under his chin, warmth that was comfortable despite the prickling aches and pains he could feel across his skin. His skin was clammy. He glanced gingerly to the side, and saw his arm laid carefully on top of covers, an IV inserted into his forearm. He didn't _feel_ drugged. Nevertheless, it unnerved him. He wormed his other hand out from the blankets, touching his upper lip and holding it up. No blood.

Had he imagined that part?

_God, I hope so._

The light didn't hurt as much today. Whatever had been done to him, he was feeling well enough to sit up without any problems. His head ached slightly, but it was something he could live with. He'd _have_ to. Yahiko was beginning to remember how he'd got here, and he was pretty sure he hadn't signed up for treatment like this. There was no way he'd agree to be some … _lab rat_ …for a corporation. _What was the job offer again? … Trainee …_

Trainee Research Assistant.

Okay, he should have seen _that_ coming. He would have been better off going back to pickpocketing. Yahiko winced, and reached down, picking at the tape holding the IV needle in place.

The door slid open. "Don't touch that, Yahiko-chan."

The man's voice was both familiar and gratingly condescending. Yahiko looked up to find the grey-haired doctor staring at him reprovingly. Yet for all his caring tone, the mouth was twisted up into a grin that would have looked better on a corpse. Instinct made Yahiko slouch his shoulders and change his attempt to free his arm into a vague plucking motion, his eyes half-closed.

"It's for your own good," the doctor noted with some relish. "You've been quite ill, after all! You need to gain some nourishment back."

Saline drip, then. Maybe. He'd had one of those before. Yahiko glanced at the clear tube, and then left it be. He could always take it out later. Cautiously, he asked "How long have I been sick?"

"A few days. However, I'm pleased to note you've recovered quite well." The doctor wasn't looking at him, typing brief notes into his scanner. Yahiko looked beyond him to the open door. There was another, taller man with dark hair standing quietly there, a long pale coat folded over one arm. He recognised the uniform the man was wearing as corporate security; he'd seen enough of the guards on the way in. Yahiko bit his lip. The guy looked tough.  Maybe he wouldn't be able to escape after all.

The security guard looked up. Blue eyes caught and held his for a long moment, cool and searching. Yahiko blinked as the guard lifted his eyebrows slightly and looked away.

What was _that_ about?

"…far the most promising, boy." The doctor was still talking, looking pleased. "Shinomori-san, Yahiko is currently the most valuable item on our floor. He will need to be protected."

The man in the doorway nodded, continuing his steady examination of the corridor outside.

"I'm a kid, not an item," Yahiko corrected sourly. He had the uncomfortable feeling that _protected_ wasn't necessarily the same thing as _safe_. He was trying to remember the doctor's name; he had vague recollection of meeting him before, just after his interview. "When can I go home?"

"When we're finished testing," the doctor said, finally glancing back to him directly. He hadn't imagined it; the man's eyes were heavily bloodshot. Despite himself, Yahiko shrank back as the doctor approached, reaching out with one hand to lay a thumb on his cheek, shining a small torch into his eyes. "You seem quite clear headed, so it appears that you are salvageable for another round. We'll take a cat scan just to make sure, of course. Hmhmhm."

 _Creepyass guy_ … _creepyass laugh._ Yahiko blinked at him, forcing his voice to sound confused. It wasn't that hard, actually. " _Am_ I sick?"

"No, boy," was the gleeful reply. "You are _progress_. Are you hungry?"

 _Jinei._ That was it. He'd remembered. Not a doctor. He was a scientist. Technically his employer, according to the paperwork. Yahiko felt cold. He had a feeling that trying to resign wouldn't help much.

"I wanna use the san," he said. "Can I get out of bed?"

Jinei shrugged, lifting an arm to point past the bed. Yahiko turned cautiously, and saw another, smaller door. "You have your own bathroom."

"When can I go home?" Yahiko repeated

"When we're done." He sounded amused. "I'll get one of the techs to bring you a food tray. Rest well, Yahiko-chan. I'm sure we'll talk tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to give my colleague the rest of his tour."

He was out the door a moment later.

The security guard - Shinomori - lingered slightly, still glancing out into the corridor. When he spoke – so softly, it took a few moments for it to register – his mild words took Yahiko by surprise.

"Good acting."

The door slid shut, leaving Yahiko gaping in surprise.

 _Okay, sure. Showoff security wise guy. But he didn't say anything …_ he put his hands to his face, massaging his forehead. He still hurt – even his eyebrows were tender to the touch – but he could function this time, and he could think straight.

He wondered if Kaoru had any idea where he was. She would have threatened Sano until the guy folded and confessed everything, but he had a hard time believing that she'd be able to find out just _where_ he was. If she was feeling reckless, she'd probably try and jack into IDD to see if his location was registered.

_Identification?_

Yahiko eased his hands away from his face, staring down at his forearms. Apart from the IV in his right arm and some faint bruising, there were no other marks. Certainly no port for an interface chip. But you couldn't _work_ for _zaibatsu_ unless you were properly identified…

Jinei was _lying_. He wasn't going to be allowed to go home. They didn't expect him to live through … whatever this experiment was. And now he remembered exactly what they'd done to him after the 'job interview' – lifted onto a table and held him down and injected him with something _black,_ directly into his—

He practically fell out of bed in his haste to escape it and wrapped a hand around the IV stand to steady himself, shoving the blanket back as he tried stand upright. Gritting his teeth, Yahiko leaned on the IV stand and pushed it toward the bathroom, letting it take most of his weight. The door opened automatically as he approached it. He staggered through the door, let go of the stand and slapped both hands onto the basin, pulling himself upright to look in the small mirror over the sink.

His face was shockingly pale, patches of grey under his eyes. He'd been _very_ sick. But his eyes – though wide and panicked – were just the way he'd remembered them. No marks. No difference. No _black_. But then, maybe he wouldn't see it in his eyes.

_It didn't quite take this time, I see._

What had they _done_ to him?

One thing was certain. There was a second round of tests coming, maybe even tomorrow. If he had any chance of escaping from here, he would have to try now, while he could still think straight. And while Jinei thought he was still too tired and vague to try anything.

Yahiko practiced standing on his own two feet until he no longer felt like falling over. Then, with a grim sense of purpose, he reached for the tape and began extricating the IV from his arm.

\---------

The Net was a pinprick map of constellations rushing past her face, a thin corridor of light connecting a rare few and marking her destination. She just had to connect the right dots to get there. Kaoru set the router navigation onto automatic, tucked her arms by her sides and let herself freefall through cyberspace. It was like flying. If her life didn't ride on the line, she would be enjoying herself. As it was, her heart thudded in her ears, almost in time with the steady countdown she could see in the top left of her vision. The global map was downsized in the opposite corner, showing the bouncing line of her supposed location. Perth, currently.

The constellations became larger; city lights, a nighttime landscape of neon, streaming out in all directions and all colours. She was hurtling down toward it at top speed, eyes set on a pale, circular labyrinth below. Data fortress. Sumitomo's outer shell. Kaoru took a deep breath, dropping toward its roof, right hand tapping in a steady pattern by her side. Her left hand still gripped the small metal tube between two fingers, a relic of the waking world, like a lifeline.

**_Contractor Code: Esme. 0037. YE. aac. contr. 3. track--rur._ **

The roof opened up beneath her. She dropped through it like a stone with nine seconds to spare, gasping in relief as the FAQ centre flashed past on her left. Her dummy test had worked; the access was legitimate. Kaoru punched through the second and third layer with the same code and twisted, landing in a crouch in a corridor made of nothing more than electronic flash and impulse. She could see the data streaming past, code and binary flickering like fish in a river of glowing blue.

 **/// 03**  
/// 02  
/// 01  
-activating cookiecrumbs.exe

Kaoru felt the spike; the faint hiccup in her virtual presence as Katsu's program dropped a tiny, glittering data-shard into the network, anchoring itself to the corridor. It was minute, and would draw no attention unless someone was actively searching for it, which was unlikely.

Only the very reckless used Cookie Crumbs, after all.

She would leave one behind every twenty five seconds. Kaoru sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she had managed to time the countdown to perfection. Laying the original spike within Sumitomo's systems would lower the speed of a trace if she was forced to detonate it.

Reassured slightly, she allowed herself to drift with the flow. She knew where she was: en route between Sumitomo's FAQ centre and their control desk. In other words, if she kept drifting in this direction, she would make it to the next network hub, which would undoubtedly be the reception centre. It would most likely be Sakura's computer, which had already pulled Yahiko's file up once. Kaoru could choose the next data corridor from there.

"Computer," she said. "Activate default settings."

**-executing rabbit.exe  
-executing neuralblade.exe**

The sword manifested in her right hand. Not a bokken, but then the blade only came in one size; long and made of a curve of sharp light. It would never cut a real person. It was, however, capable of slicing through any free-roaming program, AI or Sysop it came across, either dismantling it or disrupting it to uselessness. Rabbit was a speed-based program; her drifting picked up pace.

Kaoru skimmed along the network corridor and attempted to convince the system she was just a routine server signal. Easy. For now. Somewhere in the real world, she knew that she was shaking. The booster had flung her reflexes into overdrive. If she concentrated, she could feel the curve of the chair beneath her, but the Net drew her senses in like an addict.

The corridor opened into a room, wide and pastel blue and full of virtual pot plants. Kaoru grinned fleetingly. If she wasn't mistaken, she'd just found Sakura's desktop. Vacuous and pretty, just like the blonde in question. And being on this side of the screen meant Kaoru was able to access everything that Sakura could. Her fingers danced across the console, free floating in the middle of the room.

**__Run search: Myoujin, Yahiko._ _ **

**…searching**  
…  
…  
/// Myoujin, Yahiko  
/// Date of Employment: 24 July 2029  
/// Position: Classified  
/// Division: Classified  
/// Further Note: Details bypassed/special training. Contact DA for further details.

 _ _No date of birth, no address, no next of kin, no bank account… details bypassed, my ass.__ She glared at the words, glittering in mid-air. If she'd needed confirmation that Yahiko was an expendable asset of Sumitomo, this was it.

On the other hand, at least the brainless receptionist had not lied to her. Sakura truly had no idea where Yahiko was. Which merely meant Kaoru had to dig deeper; something she'd always intended to do in any case. Just finding Yahiko would not make this trip worthwhile. If she had to, she'd draft his resignation acceptance from the CEO himself, insert it into the files at Human Resources and get him kicked out on the street.

Where she could then kick his ass.

She brushed the words away, already speaking determinedly. "Activate Spyder protocols."

**-executing spyder.exe**

It was like magic, really; summoning a program. There were several built into her computer deck, the stock tools of any runner. She let the small neon spider crawl from the back of her hand and skitter away down the corridor, already splitting into another, vanishing into the networks to run a particle trace. A netrunner should never remain in the same place for long, but in the personal desktop of a woman with little clearance of her own Kaoru was relatively safe. She could afford to wait for the spy-bot's return.

In the meantime, she set about identifying the restrictions on her borrowed contractor code. Sano could be an idiot, but he had a point: the original holder of the code didn't have to mean well. She tapped a search into the console. Hopefully, the contractor in question was not classified…

**__Run search: Esme.wild_ _ **

**…searching**  
…  
…

There weren't a great many files on Sakura's computer that contained the 'esme' combination. Kaoru waited for the short list to compile; some .dll files, a few dead ends. She sifted through the other files without much success until she came to a list of e-mails, filed away unopened in Sakura's management folders. They'd been updated on a daily basis. Kaoru clicked on the last one.

Then she stared.

_\---------_

**To: Shishio Makoto, D.I.A. unread  
From: ** esme0037  
 **Bcc:** Administration (File Copy)  
 **Subject:** Update 29 July 2006

\--------

 **2245** : Rurouni received email from Zanza. Encrypted (Rurouni), could not verify.  
 **0110** : Rurouni logged into Elysium ( **32.639.921.986)**. Opened conversation with Jouchan re: fashion and kenjutsu. Nothing suspicious detected.  
 **0123** : Rurouni came into contact with Zanza. Small altercation ensued between Rurouni/Jouchan/Zanza. Jouchan vacated room.  
 **0126** : Rurouni met with Zanza in private room. Closed curtains, neutral territory. Eavesdropping unavailable.  
 **0234** : Rurouni logged out.

 **Further Note** :  
All evidence points to Rurouni still following Sumitomo directive. But given that's not really what you're after, I have followed up both contacts for your information. Details as follows.

_\---------_

She jumped at the sensation of crawling and glanced away from the email, staring down. The spider was back, scuttling up her leg to return to its place on the back of her hand. Kaoru stared back at the email a moment longer, and then swallowed. This was important; even if she and Sano hadn't been mentioned, Rurouni had seemed like a decent guy. He was being stalked, apparently. But … _ _still following Sumitomo directive_ …?_

Did that mean the person she had logged off so abruptly in front of – to whom she had all but proven she was using an illegal headset – was __corporate?__

"Mou," she muttered. "I don't have time for this—"

**///error. Please rephrase and repeat.**

And there was the biggest flaw in using a VR set. A human-nerve interface would not only have made her travel through the network much faster, but every program or alteration she needed to make, she wouldn't have had to voice aloud. Kaoru scowled. She could spend more time here and unearth a second mystery, but she didn't have the luxury for that. She compromised by dragging a ghost copy of the email into the network, forwarding it on a time-delay basis to Sano.

He wouldn't receive it for another twenty hours; more than enough time for her to finish up here before he could work out just why he was receiving a forwarded email from inside the system.

Then she turned back to the task at hand. If 'SE' was just an outside informant, chances were he didn't have much more clearance than she'd already abused. Maybe a code gate or two left … she'd find out.

"Spyder, display results. Filter and/or: Myoujin, Myoujin Yahiko, Yahiko." As an afterthought, she added "Age eleven."

The spider lit up like a miniature strobe light, the code patterns along its back flaring brightly as it sifted its collected data through her designated filters. Kaoru waited, shutting down her original search parameters on Sakura's console.

Rurouni, she remembered suddenly, was an avatar with bright red hair. If he worked for Sumitomo … the man with the umbrella had _also_ had long red hair. _He wouldn't be in the network as himself, would he? Let alone in some sleazy meat market…_

__He could be. I mean, I barely disguised myself, he could be just as vain—_ _

**…one match found.**

She swallowed. More important things. If there was only one result, she had an inkling that Yahiko's 'employment' was a secret to most of the company. "Display results."

_… … …  
/// Level 3 Security Search Results deleted/reconstructed  
/// Operation: Nanodust Project  
/// Research  & Development, Division: Kurogasa  
/// Control Group Participants: Four  
/// Yutaro Toshiki age 12 (terminated)  
/// Myoujin Yahiko age 11_   
_/// Shinji Matsuda age 9_   
_/// Ichiro Horikawa age 9 (terminated)_

_Nanodust?_

She stared in morbid horror at the reading, eyes blurring on the technical jargon that followed.

Control group? Terminated?

__Yahiko, you idiot._ _

She reached forward jerkily and punched in an access request to Sakura's console. She didn't bother confirming whether she would have the access or not; Kaoru already knew that Sakura had absolutely no entry into R&D. 'SE' almost certainly wouldn't. But that didn't mean she couldn't enter the network passage from here. So far, it had been easy sailing.

Her fingers tightened on the grip of the neural blade. It flared in response.

The pastel blue and pot plants vanished, dropping her back into the data river, hurtling her down a path at twice the speed of the last trip. She had time to wonder how many data-shards Cookie Crumbs had left on Sakura's desktop in her lengthy stay there, before she was jerked sharply around the corner and came face to face with a huge latticework of metal, blocking the network corridor, a small screen blinking angry, green letters at her. __Restricted Access. See your System Administrator.__

Code gate. Not as bad as a Wall, and definitely not as bad as a Sentry. Security was starting off light. Kaoru considered attempting SE's contractor code, decided it wouldn't be valid and probably not worth the risk. It was time to break out the tools of trade. She muttered into the headset.

**-executing cyfermaster.exe**

She placed a hand against the display. The blinking green letters vanished, replaced by a series of spinning symbols, slowly locking down one by one into a determined number. Pass code. All that was needed. She counted the seconds. A data corridor was different to a desktop; if she stalled in the system for more than ten seconds, she would be flagged as a suspicious signal.

__Six…seven…_ _

Without a sound, the latticework shuddered and split into two, slamming back noiselessly along the walls of the data corridor to let her pass. Kaoru swallowed, skimming through. She checked the global map on her display out of habit. It told her she was in Finland.

So far, so good.

She came across two further code gates in quick succession and dealt with them accordingly, her confidence growing. Perhaps the run wouldn't take so long after all.

Behind her, glittering in her wake, the shards clung to the corridor floor like a trail begging to be followed.

\---------

She searched through the corridors like a labyrinth, pursuing her destination with a scowl on her face that promised one hell of a beating for her brother, when she found him. She deliberately chose the most convoluted data corridors she could find and sent the spider out again, this time to map the corridors and find her the correct path. She found several network hubs along the way, but now she didn't waste time searching for further information. What she would need was in Research and Development. The 'Black Hat' division. Which sounded so ridiculously secretive, Kaoru wondered nervously exactly what she would find in her path to get there.

She knew she was on the right trail when she came to the Wall. Solid, programmed concrete, most likely two feet thick. She put her hands up to soften her collision and bounced away slightly, frowning. This one would take much longer than her allocated ten seconds.

"Computer, activate Worm," she ordered. Some netrunners used _Hammer_ or _Piledriver,_ which would work in less than ten seconds … but that attracted far too much attention; walls crashing down in the system tended to alert the Sysops immediately.

**-executing worm.exe**

__Now, if this was real life, the spider would_ eat _the worm_ , _she thought sardonically, flicking the small grub onto the wall. It uncurled, sniffed at the concrete …

…and started chewing a hole through it.

Kaoru turned her back to the wall and held the blade at the ready, carefully counting to ten. There was a small warning ping! from the headset and a red flash from the global display. She swallowed, knowing she was sweating. The system had just activated an automatic defence. She watched the grid a moment before breathing a careful sigh. She was not being traced. Not yet. It meant that she had other company incoming besides a data raven.

 _ _There._ A_ glimmer of dark red as a form manifested in the corridor before her. Four-legged, the canine head barely came to her hip as the data flash began to solidify into a system watchdog. The red eyes began to swing in her direction. Kaoru was already stepping forward, neural blade striking down as fast as she could, an arc of bright light slicing through its flank and severing the dog into two.

There was a sound like shattering glass. The watchdog fragmented and then vanished. Kaoru held still for a moment.

__Did I get it in time?_ _Did it have time to see me?__

Her breath held, she watched the global display. No alert, no trace. A good thing.

But now, the stakes had risen much higher. She gave it a maximum of ten minutes before a routine server sweep made note of the dismantled watchdog program and started a more aggressive search in the area for intruders. She needed to be long gone by then. If she was still waiting for the Worm program to chew a hole through the wall by that point, she could count on something far nastier heading her way.

It depended on how thick the Wall was. Kaoru swallowed, and started deactivating programs. The spider glimmered and then vanished into nothing. Rabbit and Cyfermaster shut down. The less electronic noise she made, the better. She kept the neural blade active, held steadily in one hand, and watched the timer on her visual display count the minutes away.

At eight minutes forty-five, the worm let out a shrill chirp to let her know it was through. The hole was tiny. It didn't matter; she was not a real person here, she was data. Kaoru finally let the neural blade die, spread her arms wide and forced her form to dissipate into code.

Kaoru drifted through the tiny hole in the wall in a small cloud of jumbled computer symbols and electronic impulse.

It was a very disorienting feeling, and one that could make her forget what she was holding, if she wasn't careful. She tried to disassociate herself from the Net briefly; tried to feel the warmth of her hands in the real world. It made the disorientation worse. Dizziness assailed her senses. Kaoru gritted her teeth (did she have teeth?) and concentrated on pulling herself back together, strand by strand, on the opposite side of the wall.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She could still feel the tiny metal tube between her fingers. She hadn't dropped it. She opened her mouth to deactivate the Worm program, when a bemused male voice took her entirely by surprise.

"You're not Himura."

Kaoru jerked around, eyes wide. Standing easily in the data corridor was a short, masculine figure devoid of any fine detail; almost a male mannequin. The only feature she could make out was a pair of dark eyes and a vaguely malicious smirk. Her heart sank, even as she whispered into the headset. The neural blade flared to life in her hand. But even then, she knew it would be too late. The person that faced her was not a program; not if it was speaking to her. Either an AI sentry – and she doubted it, given the lack of imagination to its avatar – or—

The shrill shriek of a bird cut through her thoughts as the man lifted an arm; she caught the black flutter of wings and a flash of light before the bird was gone. Data Raven. Long gone before she could even attack it; far too fast. Its shriek was echoed by the high-pitched, warning tone from her earpiece. Galaxy Bounce had picked up a second line, steadily following the first one back to its source.

She was being traced. And sentry programs couldn't activate their own programs. Which meant this person was a real person logged into the system. Sysop. Had the Wall attracted that much attention?

"You've picked the wrong day to jack in, runner," the man said flatly. "The whole department's expecting someone else. Don't worry about the trace. It's just a formality, after all."

Kaoru attacked him out of desperation. The neural blade slice down into empty space as the sysop vanished with a polite sneer. Logged out. Fear chased an icy trail down her back.

A moment later, all the alerts on her board shrilled red.

 _ _Log out. Log out now.__ The sysop had obviously activated a nearby sentry program; safety lay in getting the hell out right now. Galaxy Bounce would protect her location from the data raven long enough for her to run.

__But if I stay in the system, I can run an anti-trace—_ _

__If I can deal with this—_ _

She turned in time to see the flutter of black shards gather in the data corridor and swallowed, taking a step back. Glittering silver eyes stared down at her from underneath an immaculate golden headdress; the black mass shifted and split into a feminine torso that sprouted six long and graceful arms, adorned with bracelets. A long, serpentine body coiled beneath it, powerfully muscled and sinuous.

Kaoru knew the program. Powerful, but not so uncommon that she hadn't heard stories of it. Data Naga. She backed up further until she hit the concrete of the Wall, then braced herself, neural blade held in a defensive stance

The Naga seemed to study her for a moment, and then flung its six arms wide, splaying out graceful fingers as if stretching. There was a flare of silver light, blinding enough to make Kaoru flinch. The gleam of bright, sharp metal shimmered in each hand, the hilt of each weapon decorated in gold.

Then, six blades to her one, the Naga attacked.

_\-------------_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahiko makes an escape attempt. Kaoru finds six-sword-style is really not any fun.

Yahiko found two things that were in his favour, when he finally returned to his bed.  One was that the IV stand was constructed of two metal pieces; the wheeled base would be easy enough to unscrew.  Poor excuse for a weapon, but currently a better option than anything else available.

The other was – to his surprise – that the small digital readout next to his bed said that it was almost midnight.  Jinei had mentioned getting someone to bring in a food tray, but at _this_ time?  Mad scientists, he decided sourly, didn’t keep the same hours as everyone else. 

But the other staff here – lab assistants or nurses or whoever he could expect to find outside that door – would probably work more reasonable hours.  He hoped.  If that was the case, then he would only have to deal with a skeleton staff on the floor.  After that …

…well, it really depended on where he was.   After his interview, the woman who’d smiled and hired him had arranged for a car to take him from Reception to Sumitomo’s scientific compound.  _Orientation_ , she called it.  _Hah._ Chances were good that he was still there, but what floor?  Where was the exit?  Who would be in his way?

Step by step, he decided.  Get through the door to his room.  _Then_ work out the rest. 

First he explored the room.

Mindful of the fact that - even though there was no camera in view - he was probably monitored by _some_ thing, Yahiko shuffled vaguely about the small space, leaning heavily on the IV stand for support.  The needle was out, but he’d re-taped it down to his skin for the benefit of anyone watching.  He didn’t bother trying the door; the small keypad next to it told him it would be locked.  He was gratified to find a small chest of drawers hidden on the other side of the monitor.  The top drawer had his clothing, neatly folded in a bundle.  Far preferable to the oversized, white linen hospital gown he was wearing. 

Yahiko hesitated, and then decided that putting his cargos on under the gown could be explained to anyone watching as boyish modesty.  He retreated back to the bed, sat down and pulled the green pants on with effort, sweat trickling down his hairline.  He had a suspicion he would prove to be too ill for this – but there would only be one window of opportunity.  He didn’t want to be here for the _next round of tests_ , whatever they were.  Not if they involved more injections.  _Hell with that.  No second round, period._

It was quiet outside.  Either it meant that there was nobody nearby, or his room was soundproofed.  Yahiko couldn’t see why they’d bother.  He curled up under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his chin.  It was too cold.  Or he was still feverish.  One of the two.  After a moment, he thought to test voice recognition.

“Lights out…?”

The overhead lighting snapped off, plunging him into darkness.  He sighed, and settled down to wait for his food.

After a moment, his fingers left the warmth of the blanket to feel their way down the cold metal of the IV stand and begin unscrewing it near the base.

\---------

Despite Jinei’s words, he had to wait nearly four hours for the promised tray of food to arrive.  Yahiko fought to keep awake as he stared at the digital display in the darkness, ticking the minutes past.  He wondered uneasily if – by turning out the lights – those watching had decided not to disturb him until breakfast time. 

When he finally heard the shuffle of feet and the soft, tuneless singing of a woman approaching his door, he breathed a soft sigh of relief.  The clock read _03:36._ Just why his ‘employers’ had decided to bring him food at such a ridiculous hour, he wasn’t sure; it was entirely possible, he thought uneasily, that the second round of tests were going to be very early. 

The door slid backward, revealing the silhouette of a young woman against dim lighting, a tray held in her hand. 

“Yahiko-kun?” Her voice was soft and friendly and young.  “Are you awake?  Jinei-san would like you to eat now.”

“S’too early,” he muttered back, trying to sound sleepy.  Then for effect, he added “My head hurts.  Do I have to eat now?”

“You can probably wait an hour if you want to,” she said sympathetically, stepping into the dark room.  “But you won’t have time after that.  You’ll be needed early today.”

He was right, then.  Yahiko swung his feet out of bed, fingers gripping the IV stand.  She sounded too _nice_ for this.  Especially since he was sure she hadn’t turned the lights on because he’d complained about a headache.  “Do you know,” he asked warily, “What they want me for?  I’m … nervous.”

“I’m not sure,” she said, placing the tray down on the drawers.  “Um, if you want I could try and find out for you, but I’m just an assistant here.”

“No, that’s okay.”  He stood up.  “And … I’m sorry.”

The girl straightened and turned toward him, just as he swung with both fists.  The IV stand cracked into the side of her head with a sound that made him flinch.  He dropped to his knees as she crumpled, catching her weight across his arms and his lap in an attempt to give her a soft landing. 

He had no idea why she thought he was here – maybe the more clueless employees had been told there was some kind of volunteer project going on.  Yahiko lowered her to the floor and bit his lip, wondering how badly he’d hurt her. 

He didn’t have time to dwell on it; the open door gave a subtle chime.  Cued by instinct, Yahiko turned, still on his knees, dived for the threshold and managed to thrust his arm through the doorway just as the door automatically slid shut.  He flinched as the metal struck his arm with bruising force, and lifted a hand to wrap fingers around the edge and push.  Then he breathed a sigh of relief as the door gave way and slid smoothly open once more.  He had no idea if it would lock itself once closed, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way.

 _Stupid automatic doors_ , he thought savagely, getting to his feet and leaning carefully against the doorway, looking outside.  The corridor was dimly lit for after-hours, and there was nobody in sight.  No cries of alarm in the distance – he was probably safe for now. 

Yahiko took a tentative step out onto the plush, blue carpet, shaft of metal gripped tightly in both hands, and let the door slide shut. 

Nobody appeared to notice.

He let out a sigh and padded down the hallway as silently as he could, keep an eye out for cameras and taking note of the doors he passed.  Some were open, showing small rooms like the one he’d just left; he couldn’t make out if there were occupants or even a bed, but he doubted it.  In the distance he could hear soft voices conversing amidst laughter and teasing.  A surreal sound, given he’d just left what, as far as he was concerned, was a prison cell. 

 _Maybe a reception area,_ he thought.   And then: _reception is usually close to the elevators._

Maybe if it was just some office girl flirting with her boyfriend, he’d be able to sneak past.  Or … do what he had to do. 

He started navigating his way through the maze of corridors.  An office complex redesigned to a research area, with most rooms closed off for the night.  The few that did remain open – a small kitchen, an empty suite – became a refuge he was increasingly grateful for.  At four in the morning, there were still people walking the floor; usually the odd security guard doing the rounds.  He had to duck into a room several times to avoid being spotted, keeping out of sight as they prowled down the corridor. 

More than once, he took advantage of the room to sink onto his knees in the shadows and catch his breath back.  He wasn’t well.  It was infuriating.  He didn’t have enough time as it was – the girl he’d blindsided was going to wake up eventually.  She’d raise the alarm even if nobody else did.

Eventually he turned a corner, peered cautiously down the hallway and gave a soft sigh of relief.  At the far end, the corridor branched out to the foyer; he could just see one corner of the reception desk and soft, night lighting of the elevators beyond.  A few steps more and he could see the curve of someone’s back as they faced away from him, talking animatedly to someone else.  A man in a white labcoat, flirting with some girl who giggled like an idiot at his bad pickup lines.  Yahiko made a face.  On the other hand, at least they weren’t security. 

He needed to get past them to the elevators.  They were too close.  There was no way they were going to miss a kid in a white hospital gown tiptoeing past and waiting for an elevator.  He bit his lip, easing himself into a doorway, and waited hopefully to see if they would move on.

The woman’s laughter died suddenly.  From the hidden side of the reception desk, a soft male voice addressed the two with words Yahiko couldn’t quite make out.  Whatever was said, the effect was immediate; the two separated hurriedly and strode off.  He had to duck into the room to avoid being spotted by the girl as she scurried past. 

When he peered back out, there was someone else in the corridor.

He recognised the coat first, and blinked.  The same guy that had come in with Jinei was standing at the elevators, watching the floor monitor; either someone was using the lift or the security guard – Shinomori, wasn’t it? – was about to leave.  Yahiko hoped it was the latter.  He scowled at the man’s back.  _What kind of workaholic is still here at 4am?  Go home already!_

Then he flinched as Shinomori turned to glance mildly down the hallway.  Yahiko jerked his head back inside the room, swallowing hard.  _Oh geez.  What, can he read_ thoughts _or something? Stupid… wiseass know-all security guard!_  He held his breath, listening as hard as he could.  When he heard the careful, unmistakable tread of footsteps coming slowly toward him, he moved further back, nearly stumbling over a heavy desk.  Yahiko sank down behind it with his hands gripping his makeshift weapon, peering carefully under the desk to watch.

The dark, booted feet came to a stop at the door. 

Yahiko’s heart sank.  Out of all the people who could possibly discover him, he had a feeling that this man was one that wouldn’t be fazed by an eleven-year old with an IV stand.  He waited for the light to be switched on, or for Shinomori to demand that he show himself. 

Nothing happened.  Curious, he peered under the desk again.  The feet were facing him now; the man was definitely staring into the room.  But he hadn’t said anything.  _Had_ he been seen?  Maybe Shinomori wasn’t sure.  But then, eventually he’d think to turn on the light and remove all doubt... 

And then, oddly, an eager voice called out, diverting his stalker’s attention completely.  “Shinomori-san!  Thank goodness you’re still here!” 

“I was just leaving,” was the cool reply.  He breathed a sigh of relief as the feet turned away and Shinomori vanished from his line of sight, traveling further up the corridor.  “Is there a problem?”

It occurred to him that the reception area was now completely unwatched.  Yahiko couldn’t believe his luck.  He listened for a moment as the newcomer babbled, apparently drawing the security guard away to some other urgent catastrophe.  Curiously, he wondered what on earth could have happened to this quiet floor in the early hours to merit such a panicked sound in the guy’s voice.  He lifted himself carefully from the floor, held onto the desk corner until he regained his sense of balance, and tiptoed for the door.

“…were right, Aoshi.  He’s come right in through the mainframe, brazen as you please.  The administrator swears it’s not Himura, but nobody else would have a reason to try cracking Kurogasa right now, and the timing’s too convenient—“

 _A netrunner._ For a few brief seconds, Yahiko congratulated whoever had the gall to actually hack into a _zaibatsu_ system, when it occurred to him that he knew very well that there was at least one person who had the motivation and the lack of common sense to run a search into Sumitomo—

_No way._

“It’s not Himura,” Shinomori returned flatly, words clipped. 

“How do you …”

The voices faded around a corner.  He had a clear exit point to the elevator.

Yahiko stood frozen in the doorway, and wondered frantically to do next.  _It_ can’t _be Kaoru.  She’s always said she doesn’t have what it takes._ He took a step toward the elevator and bit his lip.  _Maybe it’s not related at all, and it’s just this ‘Himura’ guy.  Or maybe she hired someone to come in after me._   _Or maybe …_

 _…_ Maybe she hadn’t cared and tried anyway and was now way in over her head.

The elevator bank was unattended.  One of the lifts had even been called to the floor.  He could sprint down the corridor, dive in and leave.  Once he’d left the floor, surely he could come up with some inventive way to dodge the _rest_ of security—

He couldn’t leave.  Not until he found out for sure.  Yahiko sucked in a breath, turned and slipped down the corridor in pursuit of the two men.  The conversation came back into earshot.

“…sentry program should then serve, if it’s not Himura.  If you’re sure.”  The other man sounded doubtful.  “Ken put down a trace.  It hasn’t found them yet—“

“They’ll be using a bounce program to come here,” Shinomori said.  “Alert ED team one.  Do it now; explain the situation.  Get them up in the air.  We’ll give them coordinates once we confirm a location.”

“Aren’t you part of ED one?“

“Soujiro has replaced me.  The team has full numbers.”

“But the Naga—“

“You have no clue how good this netrunner may or may not be,” Shinomori said coolly.  “A program cannot be relied upon in full.  You should know this.”

A door slid open; bright light flooded the corridor.  Yahiko peered around the corner to catch a glimpse of LCD screens and harried looking staff before the door closed behind the two men.  System Operations.  They’d be working actively to stop the netrunner in her tracks. 

He could still hear them well enough, though slightly muffled.  Another voice rose in greeting, sending a chill of recognition down his spine.  Jinei was inside; had probably been summoned straight away.  “Shinomori is right.  Runners have a pesky way of ghosting into the system once they know they’ve been discovered.  Give them the smallest escape route and they’ll vanish into the networks to either escape or attack from another angle.”  There was a pause. Then, cheerfully, “If someone’s come all this way to say hello, it would be rude of us not to return the favour.  I want them trapped.”

“Yes, Jinei-sama.”

“If it’s not Himura, I’d like to know who it is and why they’re coming _here_.” Jinei mused.  “But I suppose we’ll find out from their location.”

“It won’t be Himura.”

“So you said.  You’ve yet to explain why.”

“Himura,” Shinomori said with a hint of acid, “Would not be this easily discovered.”

“Then?”

“Corporate espionage.  Someone has leaked your research.  Or,” he said thoughtfully, “Someone connected to your four volunteers.”

The guess was far too close for comfort.  Yahiko swallowed.  At least he’d had the common sense not to put Kaoru down as next of kin.  And then he blinked.  _Wait._ _Four?_

There were more people here?

“One now,” Jinei said mildly.  “Shinji Matsuda finally succumbed.  His immune system overloaded.  He died an hour ago.  But I digress…”

Yahiko stumbled back, white-faced.  _Not_ four.  And he was sick, but …

… _died an hour ago_.  Probably somewhere on this hellish floor, and he hadn’t heard a damn thing.  _Nothing_.  A death in a room somewhere, quietly dealt with, no fuss …

_I want to go home!_

And then suddenly, there was a bark of surprise from behind him.  Security was still making the rounds.

“Hey!  You!”

A hand descended heavily onto his shoulder and he screamed before he thought to do otherwise, turning to slam the length of steel in his hands as hard as he could into the guard’s side.  Then he bolted. He heard doors open, heard Jinei’s surprised question, followed by short, delighted laughter.  The room spun at the edges as his body protested the sprint. Yahiko gritted his teeth and ran blindly for the elevator.  Pursuit wasn’t far behind him, but he had enough of a headstart that surely…

His thumb stabbed at the down button.  The elevator Shinomori had summoned was still at the floor; the doors slid open invitingly without a sound.  He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that there were at least three guards pelting down the corridors now, tasers at the ready.  Behind them all, Jinei could be seen, watching him avidly.  Yahiko shot him a murderous glare and then hurled himself into the elevator. 

The doors closed quietly.  His legs buckled underneath him, worn and shaking, but he still reached up with one hand and pressed the button for the second floor.  They’d expect him at ground…

It took him a moment to realise the elevator hadn’t moved.

Yahiko stared at the buttons uncomprehendingly, reaching up to push the button harder.  The lift wasn’t working.  He jabbed at the button repeatedly in the wild hope that the lift would suddenly jerk into motion.  It occurred to him in some remote corner of his mind that he was panicking.  It didn’t matter.  He couldn’t stop thinking: _immune system overloaded._

Just as he couldn’t stop the soft trundle of the doors as they opened, leaving him vulnerable to the people outside.  Yet there was only one man standing in front of him; he wasn’t hauled out and dragged away.  Yahiko shifted his gaze onto the same, dark boots as before and swallowed, curling his nerveless fingers around the length of steel.

“After hours, the elevator requires an identification code,” Shinomori Aoshi said.  A gloved hand reached down and took hold of Yahiko’s arm, hauling him to his feet gently before letting him go.  Yahiko glanced at him uncertainly; the man’s eyes were unreadable.  “There was no chance here.  You would have been better off attempting the stairs.”

 _Why…?_   Shinomori was blocking his view from outside.  Yahiko swallowed.  The guy seemed a lot more sympathetic toward him; at least he was being nicer than the guards would have been with their tasers.  Nevertheless he took a careful step back from the lift entrance, holding the IV stand shakily between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said determinedly.  “I don’t want to die.”

Shinomori blinked.  “You won’t.”

There was a blur of metal as the IV stand was struck from his grasp with jarring force.  Yahiko barely had time to comprehend that the man in front of him was moving at all, when the second blow slammed into the side of his head with enough strength that he bounced off the wall, crumpling to the ground.

The last thing he felt before darkness overwhelmed him was a strange, faint sense of betrayal.

\---------

The problem with the Naga wasn’t just that it technically outnumbered her six to one. Nor was it the fact that lopping off a limb or two did absolutely nothing to a program construct … okay, that _was_ a big problem, given the sentry’s creation point was its only weak point and protected by six damn arms with swords …

…but all of that Kaoru could _deal_ with.  Somehow.

What she couldn’t handle was the fact that it was eating her programs.

It wasn’t a very surprising revelation – sentry programs were designed to block off every path an innovative runner could take – but it was trouble enough to make her swear.   Jacking the system on a modified headset gave Kaoru some protection herself, given her nerve endings weren’t solidly wired into the system; the first strike of the Naga passed through her arm with no more result than a painful sting of phantom damage.  Unless the sentry got a clear head shot, she would be okay. 

So she was overconfident.  Just a little.  And jerked as the gleaming arc of the Naga’s sword sliced through her and sparked a reaction from her display, sending an unpleasant whine of feedback through her ears.

**_=offline: rabbit_ **

_Oh crap._ Give the Naga enough time and it would destroy every weapon she had. Not to mention any chance she had of stopping the Data Raven from pinging the _Galaxy Bounce_ program and following it backwards to find out where she really was—

Kaoru ducked the next swing, cringed at the screech of two blades slicing down the concrete Wall, and aimed a desperate strike at the Naga’s side.   The sentry parried with ease, and retaliated by swinging an arm down over the block, blade intended to bite down into her shoulder at the neck.  She yelped and threw herself backward, tumbling into the corridor behind the Naga.  The tip of the sword caught and sliced a thin arc from her forearm to her wrist.  She barely felt it.

**_=offline: spyder_ **

There was no point running.  Turn a corner and she’d probably collide with another sentry.  Kaoru skipped back a couple of steps, bringing the sword up warily as the Naga twisted to track her movement, bracelets and headdress glittering.  Bad enough that she’d lost the speed and the spy program; if it took anything else …

… _what if it takes the blade?_

A stupid thought; she’d already been parried once with no ill effect from the contact.  Paranoia made her back away further, swinging the neural blade out of the Naga’s path of attack.  If she lost the blade, she’d be a sitting duck for any further trace or alert programs; her one way of dealing with them would be gone.

She still had a sentry-killer of her own.  Uneasily, she knew that if it was used now the Naga would destroy it, leaving her defenseless for any further sentries in her path.

If she was reckless enough to continue. 

There was no point without defenses – they already knew she was here.  Even if they thought she was someone else.  Kaoru scowled.

_Damn you, Himura, whoever you are!_

She wasn’t good enough to avoid six blades.  She highly doubted anyone actually _was_ good enough.  She ducked under the next strike as best she could and parried after all, relieved when the blade held off the consequences; even so, the best she could do was avoid three strikes.  The last three tore through her legs and sliced down her back from shoulder to hip.  Kaoru screamed.  The damage wasn’t _real_ ; the pain was nothing more than psychosomatic, but it was _enough._

**_=offline: dogcatcher_ **

**_=offline: fait accompli_ **

**_=offline: cyfermaster_ **

Kaoru hit the floor.

There went her ability to open the code gates.  At least the other two were more likely to be used in one of Misao’s runs … she _hurt_.  In a few seconds no doubt she’d feel fine, but _in a few seconds_ wasn’t good enough.  She curled twitching, burning legs underneath her, tried to rise, and settled for rolling across the data corridor, barely avoiding the multiple strikes that hammered into the ground where she’d fallen.

Nothing for it.  “Computer,” she hissed.  “Activate sentry defense.”  Then hurriedly, as the Naga twisted sinuous, dark muscles and corrected its course, blades flashing in the neon light, she added “ _Placement, unobstructed_!”

**_=executing shaka.exe_ **

Then she shifted onto her side, legs curled up, neural blade held in front of her in a position of full defense.  The Naga’s blades came down; four crashed jarringly on the length of the sword, nearly ripping it out of her hands.  The fifth struck the floor.  The sixth scraped underneath her blade to strike her knee.  Kaoru yelled and held on for dear life, and prayed like mad that the next program to dissolve wouldn’t be the neural blade—

**_=offline: Galaxy Bounce_ **

_No!_

On her visual display, the small, bright dot that was the Data Raven changed course and angled in a straight line directly for her location.  She barely had time to grasp the scope of that disaster when the Naga opened its mouth and screamed. 

There was the jangling clamour of six program-crafted swords clattering to the floor as the Naga flailed backward in its death throes, striking out at its killer.  With the sentry’s focus on Kaoru, it hadn’t had time to process the extra presence that had formed behind it in the empty data corridor.  Nor had the sentry been able to defend itself from the spear, long and polished black, which had been thrust through its chest.  

**_=ALERT: 15 seconds to compromise_ **

The Naga shattered like glass, black shards fragmenting and then fraying away to nothing in the corridor, giving Kaoru a brief glimpse of a powerfully muscled, dark skinned warrior, near naked but for the ceremonial trappings of a Zulu hunter.  The sentry-killer pulled its spear back to guard, dark eyes fixed emptily on Kaoru.  He was fading as she watched. 

**_=offline: shaka_ **

  _No more sentry defense_ , she thought wearily.  And then: _oh god._ “Computer!  Activate _Replicator!”_

**=executing Replicator**

**= _ALERT: 12 seconds to compromise_**

Kaoru rolled onto her stomach, concentrating past the shrill sound of the alarm for the moment on the display in the corner of her field of vision.  The Data Raven was arrowing directly for her true origin point.  The most the replication program could do was intercept the Raven and give a false reading; of multiple origin points that looked the same, scattered across Lesser Tokyo.  Faced with choices, the Raven would choose one and follow it, but with less than twelve seconds left, there wasn’t time to copy her location more than twice.

_It’s a two in three chance of escaping detection.  That’s good odds.  Please …_

The small, metal tube was still tucked between her fingers, stubbornly held in a death grip.  If all else failed—

The alarm cut off into sudden silence as the trace program veered away, opting to follow a false path.  Kaoru collapsed with a faint sound of relief.  She’d weathered the first major obstacle.  Better yet, the administrators would hold a record of the damage the Naga had supposedly done and assume she was either dead or forced to log out.

 _Which, naturally, would be the common sense thing to do in any case._ She was down too many programs, and no longer had any further defense against sentries apart from the neural blade.  Most of the offline programs she would have to replace entirely; the data would be inescapably corrupted. 

But then, one of the programs she used was expensive, top of its line and had excellent constructed integrity, employed by top-class black-ops hackers who would field sentry programs like the Naga with ease …

“Computer,” she said warily, “…Install Galaxy Bounce.”

**_=Galaxy Bounce already on file.  Replace?  Y / N_ **

She laughed.  Shut down temporarily by the Naga, but not destroyed.  “No. Activate Galaxy Bounce.

**_=executing Galaxy Bounce_ **

Kaoru sighed.

She still had a window.  Not much of one; the first code gate she came to and she would have to jack out, but if she was very careful she could do that undetected.  And sentry programs, she _might_ be able to avoid.  Kaoru bit her lip.  To continue was rank stupidity.

But she was already in the Kurogasa division.  She was _so close_ … and they wouldn’t think her capable to continue.

 _In any case, my legs are working again._ She staggered to her feet.  _And I better go before I’m registered as anything other than collateral damage to the network…_

Carefully, she continued down the corridor.  A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt…

\---------

**_=FLAG: security breached_ **

**_=FLAG: blackice/datanaga terminated_ **

**_=FLAG: inner core suspicious signal_ **

…

…

…

**=parameters established**

**=activate AI**

Deep within the inner core, a small figure uncurled in the darkness to stand straight.  Graceful fingers gripped the hilt of the katana.  Golden eyes opened, catlike in the gloom.  It had been a very long time since he had last been summoned.

_Time to kill._

It was the only thing he had ever been programmed to do.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaoru meets a stranger with blood-red hair and golden eyes in the depths of the Net. It's love at first sight. Really.

Aoshi stared down at the crumpled figure in the corner of the elevator with no small measure of self-disgust.  He hadn’t pulled his strike; the child on the floor would suffer a severe concussion at the very least.  Regardless of his reasoning, it was a cruel thing to have done to a boy brave enough to try fighting his way out of the building.

 “Out of the way!” 

He moved aside before Jinei could lay a hand on his shoulder to shove him away; to have the scientist touch him now would provoke a temptation hard to resist.  Hours of talking with Jinei about research plans had left Aoshi with the strong desire to drive a fist into those grinning teeth. 

Therefore, he felt mildly appeased as he watched Jinei take in Yahiko’s condition, the habitual mad grin dropping into a quiet snarl of fury.  “Damn you!  What have you _done_?

“I hit him.”

“I can see that,” Jinei retorted, crouching down to cup the boy’s chin and lift his face to the doubtful light of the elevator.  “I told you to collect him, not make him useless!”

“I’m in charge of R&D security,” Aoshi said coldly.  “Not a babysitter.”

“Do you have any concept,” Jinei said, voice returned to its usual mildness, “How much you have delayed the testing?”

_Yes.  I do_

He only regretted that this was the only delaying tactic he could think of.   Aoshi stayed impassive, watching as the boy was transferred to medical staff and bundled off for treatment.  Yahiko would survive the head injury, though it might take him some time to recover from it.  The testing was another matter entirely.

“Make sure he can’t leave his room this time,” Jinei told the techs, and then rounded on Aoshi as he walked away.  “Where are you going?”

“My role here is to intercept an attack on your staff or systems,” he said.  “If you remember, I was dealing with such before you called me away.”

Jinei stared at him for a moment, and then curled his lip.  “We will discuss this later, then.”

Aoshi nodded and continued down the corridor.

The sun would rise in another hour and he was _still_ here; ensuring new procedures were enforced had taken far too much time already, but he’d had to deal with the night roster of security as well.  Aoshi was beginning to feel the pinch of too little sleep.  Truth be told, he didn’t need to stay in order to supervise dealing with a rogue netrunner.  That was what the computer security and sysops were _for_. 

If it _was_ Himura … it couldn’t be.  Far too obvious.  Far too sloppy.  Unless Kenshin had made a serious error in judgment; very unlikely, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility.

Aoshi sighed and returned to System Operations.

The group that had been there earlier dispersed, leaving only the six rostered staff.  Four of them were wired into the mainframe on internal patrol.  The last two were monitoring the systems externally, with one issuing orders over headset; to ED one, he presumed. 

“Status report,” he said. 

The one not speaking twisted in her seat, glancing up at him with respect.  “Sir, the Naga’s down. The runner used a sentry-killer.  We’re getting the imprint memory of the program now.  And we have a trace back to a dormitory uptown, but it doesn’t seem legitimate.”

He lifted an eyebrow.  “Why not?”

“Because it’s ghosting,” she replied.  “It doesn’t seem anchored to an actual IP signal.  I suspect the runner used a replication anti-trace to divert the Raven.”  She looked nervous.  “I dispatched ED two to confirm it with minimal force for now…”

“Wise,” he assured her.  If the traceback was false, Enforcement Division would be saved from harming an innocent.  Idly he wondered whether the runner was bad at replication techniques, or if they just weren’t inclined to have someone fall in their place.  In either case, a diversion was a diversion.  The trace could not be rerouted now, unless the runner tipped their hand again. 

Or unless he did a particle trace through the mainframe to see if the runner had left any alterations that would mark their trail. 

“Run a search,” he said.  “See if you can find any files connected to the Nanodust Project that have been accessed anywhere else in Sumitomo in the last ...six hours.  I’ll give you my priority codes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir!” the man with the headset looked up.  “We’ve obtained a digital recording of the Naga’s log file.  The runner’s been dispatched.”

“You’re sure.”

“Six strikes registered, three of them critical.  Programs offlined.”

One critical was often all it took to flatline a runner.  _Three_ … Aoshi considered.  “Do we have a record of which programs the Naga destroyed?”

“Yes, sir.  There’s a booster program, along with a spybot—“

“Let me see that.” 

Aoshi took the printout and scrolled down the short list.  All reasonable-grade cracking software; nothing Himura would ever have cause to use.  That settled one concern to rest. 

Now he was just curious as to whom it was.  _Galaxy Bounce_ was on the list; high grade software amidst the chaff.  A new addition, most likely.  Newly purchased, possibly just for the night’s work.  It would be somebody connected to the Nanodust Project. 

“If they used an anti-trace, that implies they survived the Naga attack long enough to do so,” he said.  “You’re sure the runner is down?”

“If not down, they’d definitely have to jack out to seek medical attention,” the tech said. 

“But you can’t be sure,” he said evenly.

“…No, sir.”  The tech squared his shoulders.  “But nobody can take that much damage and lose that many programs and be able to continue a run, sir.”

Aoshi conceded the point.  “Get the sysops to run a sweep of that area, two by two data corridors wide.  If the runner is found, force a log-out and make sure they’re tagged.  We’ll pick them up in person.”

“Yes, si—“

“Belay that.”

Aoshi blinked. 

The supervising operator – Ken, the one who’d originally located the runner – was pushing his chair away from the console, mouth a tight line as he disconnected from the system.  Beside him, his team members were doing the same.  “With due respect, Shinomori-san, my team is logging out.”

Aoshi stared at them; noticed the pallor to Ken’s face and straightened.  “What has happened?” he asked softly.

“The runner’s tripped enough security flags that the system has deemed them an escalated threat,” Ken said.  “It’s engaged an AI defense.   We don’t want to be there for that.”

Only one AI program that Aoshi knew of would be avoided by its own allies.  He swallowed against a sudden feeling of dread.  “The AI defense is infallible?”

“It’s Battousai.” Ken met his gaze.  “That thing has never been survived.”

Aoshi slid into a chair.  “Then monitor as best you can from outside the system so that we can record the contact.”

“We?  Shinomori-san, weren’t you going home?“

_Not any more._

If nothing else, he would be the one to take the news of Battousai’s activation to Kenshin, before Shishio could rub it in the redhead’s face.

\---------

She was expecting to be blocked the moment she turned the corner and instead she found a hub. 

Kaoru stared at the small, rounded room with a mix of relief and dread.   Here, then, could be what she needed to at least _find_ Yahiko … but after her confrontation with the SysOp, she knew that the systems would be heavily monitored for sign of tampering, especially if security had guessed what she was after.  She would have to be very careful.

The room was a uniform, slate grey with no virtual decoration; a far cry from Sakura’s bright walls and pot plants.  Either the person who owned the workstation had absolutely no imagination, or there was no external console.  It was possible, she realised in disgust, that she’d just found the maintenance system for something as inconsequential as the elevator.  Which would be entirely useless to her, unless she felt like driving the staff nuts by stopping the elevators on every floor.

Kaoru sighed, reached out and activated the console. 

The room flooded with light.

She flinched, hands jerking up toward her head on reflex, before she realised that she hadn’t set off a sentry routine.  The light was _images_ , flickering across the wall before settling in place like paintings across the walls and hanging in mid air.  Kaoru blinked, eyes glancing from one to the other before she realised what she was seeing.  A corridor.  An office.  She’d found the visual security control. 

At most she could check the floors for any sign of Yahiko’s presence, and even then it wouldn’t be a perfect search.  If the idiot was part of a top secret program, he’d be monitored from somewhere else other than here.   No; _this_ would just let her see the corridors and reception and the lifts, and maybe some of the offices if she was lucky.  At this hour, she’d be lucky to see anything at all, unless she wanted to spend hours tracking through recorded images on the off chance something relevant might have happened in a random, unshielded corridor.  An option she couldn’t risk, right now. 

_But that doesn’t mean this is a waste of time.  I could find_ some _thing.  Couldn’t I?_ Kaoru studied the images.  Most of them were devoid of life. A dimly lit reception desk.  Vacant corridors.  The elevators were empty. 

There were two cameras that showed anyone at all apart from patrolling security guards, and of those two images one drew attention; a lanky, grey-haired man in a lab coat deep in heated conversation with a girl about Kaoru’s age.  The girl was crouched in the corridor with a compress to her head.  _Some_ thing had happened. 

She tapped at the console, trying to bring up the audio feed.

_“—care that you are injured?”_

_“No, sir.  I am very sorry, sir—“_

_“I don’t care how sorry you are, girl. Your misplaced sympathy has set us_ all _back.  Clean out your locker and leave.”_

_“I’m – wait, I’m fired?  But … but he HIT me!  All I did was take him food, I didn’t do anything wrong!  It was an accident--”_

_“An unacceptable one.  And one you should regret in many ways.”_ The man sounded almost pleased; the grin on his gaunt face was enough to move Kaoru to chills just by looking at him.  “ _If you were intending to make things easier for the boy, know that you have instead forced his remaining time here to be a misery.”_

Kaoru froze.

_“With due respect, Jinei-sama … firing me because I was nice to one of your volunteers doesn’t make sense.  I’ve done well up until now…”_

_“Volunteers…?  Hmhmhm.  Look, girl.   I am being lenient, despite your mistakes.  Go home now, before I change my mind.”_

_“And do what?”_ The girl was angry now, lurching to her feet as the man – Jinei – turned away.  She followed him down the corridor, voice rising.  _“You can’t do this to me.  I need this job!  I’ll appeal to HR. Please ….  Or I’ll …I’ll tell the media what a--”_

Kaoru flinched as Jinei turned sharply into an office, the girl still trailing behind.  The door slammed shut behind them.  “Idiot,” she breathed at the suddenly empty corridor.  “You stupid, stupid—“

**_/error.  Please rephrase and repeat._ **

She laughed outright at the interruption, and stopped abruptly when she heard the edge of hysteria to her voice.  Clapping a hand over her mouth, she sank to her knees and fought the sudden surge of nausea as the implications of what she’d seen hit home.  No camera she had access to showed the inside of that office.

_And I can’t DO anything from here—_

_And Yahiko--_

She reached up to the console and switched it off, plunging the room back into dull grey.  Given what she’d just seen, there was a chance that the security station would be accessed or edited some time very shortly; despite any desire she might have had to somehow reach across the screen and intervene, her only option was to walk away. 

Kaoru took a breath and rose to her feet, making for the exit.  _Jinei._   She had one piece of information that she needed, and she would never forget that mad, grinning face.  Jinei, the scientist, who certainly knew where her brother was.  Someone she could find by other means, even if she was reduced to camping outside the Sumitomo building until he walked out onto the street. 

_I’ll make him tell me everything.  I’ll do what I can for her.  And I will definitely make him get Yahiko out, if I have to break every bone in his—_

If she hadn’t been heading for the door, she’d never have had warning.

A slight figure stepped soundlessly into the doorway. 

She stared at him in confusion, even as reflex jerked her backward, bringing the neural blade up to guard.  The thing that stood out most in the gloom was the man’s white hakama and the glint of dark, blood-red hair in a topknot, both of which gave her a sense of familiarity, especially given her discoveries earlier in the evening.  Kaoru stared as the man took another step into the room, hand descending onto the hilt of a katana sheathed at his waist.  One sword of two; someone had gone to the effort of programming a wakizashi by its side.    

That his arrival was something she should run from was a given; she had no defense other than the blade against a further sentry program _or_ a SysOp.  _But …it looks like …_

Flat, golden eyes lifted to meet hers as the man continued forward steadily, and she took another step backward as a chill ran through her.  The red bangs that shrouded his face gave her the impression that he was already looking at her through a veil of blood.  There was no recognition in his face.  This was _not_ the samurai from the chat room.

_Golden eyes, red hair…wielding a daisho— oh god--  
_

The samurai’s sword flashed out of its sheath.  Too fast, too soon; she swung wildly in an attempt to block the blur of his weapon, but by then it was far too late.  The secondary impact of the wall as she was slammed against it was something she barely registered as she felt the blade drive through her chest with enough strength to pin her there.

The world went white. 

\---------

“Critical.”  The woman peered at the readouts, her voice subdued.  “That’s the heart.  That runner is toast.”

Aoshi met the news with a blank look and a perfunctory nod.  He had expected nothing less, not since the Battousai program had tracked the runner down to the security room.   At least, he thought bitterly, Himura had designed the program to deal out death as swiftly as possible. 

The runner had been brave, if reckless, to get this far.  And not driven by malice, if the reports he was looking at were correct.  Sakura’s computer had been accessed; an investigation had apparently been conducted under specific search conditions.  He stared at the only visual they had of the intruder; a slim, dark-haired figure that from an external viewpoint was hard to define as either gender, although in the network it didn’t really matter what an avatar looked like. 

Whoever it was, they were only interested in the fate of one boy.  

Aoshi’s fingers curled on the report as he forced himself to stand vigil.  There was nothing he could do to protect the runner.  Nothing at all, except watch and record, and find some way to pass the news on to Kenshin that the redhead would be able to stomach.

“Cancel that!” the woman’s partner said, sounding fascinated.  “Not toast. Battousai hasn’t registered a kill.”

_What?_

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped.  “The program must have glitched.  You can’t survive—“

“Battousai doesn’t _glitch,_ ” Aoshi said mildly, interrupting her as he leaned forward to look at the screen.  

“Then he missed the heart somehow!” she said.

_Battousai doesn’t_ miss _, either._

Nevertheless, the readings didn’t lie.  The AI had registered a lethal strike, and the runner was still in the system; just like a program, a runner’s avatar would shatter with death.  There had to be some other explanation.

_The Naga did three critical hits …_

“Headset,” he said.  They both twisted to look at him.  On the other side of the room, Ken glanced up with curiosity.  “That’s your other option.”

“Impossible,” Ken said.  “You can’t _access_ with one of those.”

“Not an unmodified one,” Aoshi said coolly.  “This runner survived the Naga.  It is your only explanation.”

And it didn’t matter.  Battousai was an AI; an intelligent killer capable of critical analysis.  Once the program realised his quarry was not dead, Battousai would merely act to correct the problem.

\---------

_Not—_

A small sliver of sound escaped her, high and pitched into a thin whimper that she couldn’t stop.  One hand twitched feebly, reaching for the katana without any strength.

_Real—_

Her chest _burned_ ; tears in her eyes, she tried to make her limbs work.  Her vision swam and twisted and blurred; in the darkness, golden eyes stared at her without emotion.  She couldn’t move; though she knew, she _knew_ the sword through her chest was _not there_ , the Net deemed otherwise. 

Kaoru gasped, struggling for air past the overbearing, certain sensation that her lungs were filling with blood.  Her arms refused to cooperate, which terrified her.  Her only chance to get out of here safely and she couldn’t so much as lift a finger to take it. 

_Not!  Don’t, stop reacting, stop it—_

The golden eyes blinked in the haze of her vision, and then narrowed.  She managed a short scream as the blade withdrew from her chest.  She half expected to see it covered in blood.  She knew the next strike would kill her, and she knew it would be too fast for her to eject herself from the system. 

Which left her one option and one only, and even then chances that she would survive _this_ situation were slim.  With the last of her strength, as the sword swung again, Kaoru gripped the edges of the thin metal tube in her hand and snapped it in half.

Then she screamed in earnest as the world shattered.

She shattered with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a car chase.

“There!” 

The female tech leaned forward, sounding triumphant.  “That time, for sure.  Kill regis—“

She yelped and hunched into her chair, hand clawing for the headset and throwing it across the console.  Aoshi winced as the shrill sound of feedback grated against his hearing.  Ken glanced up as the tech’s partner did the same and met his gaze with a baffled look.  “Is that meant to happen?”

The lights flickered and died. 

Aoshi made for the door, hand digging his mobile from one pocket as the darkened room dissolved into general confusion.  The lights were out in the corridors as well – total blackout.  They were only down for a matter of seconds before the backup generators took up the slack; by the time the lights came back on he was through to the main security desk. 

“We’ve had a power failure, directly after the execution of a netrunner,” he said.  “Run a full systems check.  There may be a virus in the system.”

“Yes sir.”

Aoshi flipped the mobile back into his pocket and glanced up at the camera curiously; the green light was off.  The lights hadn’t been the only thing to die, then.  He frowned.  Even if the runner had keyed a virus as a dead man’s switch, it was doubtful it could affect three systems at once; not so quickly. 

“ _Shinomori_!”

He’d been expecting the arrival of Jinei.  The scientist was stalking down the corridor with a look of mingled surprise and fury.  Aoshi cut off the inevitable question.  “Lights, cameras, at least part of the network has crashed.  Anything else?”

Jinei stared at him flatly for a moment before answering.  “The electronics in the labs are down.  What has happened?”

_I’m not sure._  

“Shinomor – ah, Jinei-sama!” The hasty correction came from Ken, who had all but tumbled out the door behind him.  The system administrator sketched a hasty bow, his forehead beaded with sweat.  “We have a problem.”

“Another?”

Ken averted his gaze from Jinei’s sudden and unpleasant smile.  “We can’t access the system – it’s like the whole thing has offlined.”

“That can’t be the case,” Aoshi said.  “No runner has the ability to shut down the entire network.  Run a virus flush and see if—“

“We did that,” Ken interrupted.  “We can’t access the A-V software, either.”

They stared at him. 

“That’s not possible,” Aoshi said finally.

“I know the software’s on a protected server but it’s still part of the network,” Ken replied.  “Whatever that runner did before he died, it’s flatlining a huge chunk of the system.  Some serious, grade A black-ops software.”

Aoshi’s phone rang.  He snatched it out of his pocket.  “Shinomori.”

“It’s localized damage,” was the crackling reply.  “Some of the network corridors are down, but we can reroute signals.  The only two places that have been seriously affected are your department and the reception hub in the administration centre.”

“Administration?”

“Yes, sir.  The terminal in reception has taken a larger hit than your floor.  Everything connected to your network of hubs has crashed, but the reception and Q&A centre may need major reconstruction.”

Aoshi was quiet a moment before answering.  “How long before we’re online again?”

“Can’t say for sure.  An hour or two, maybe.  If you could see the visuals you’d see why.  It’s like something ripped through the data networks.”

“You can access the visuals?”

“Yes, sir. It’s quite impressive – like a river of fire through the system.”

_A river.  A constant stream. A path..._

“… Sir?   … Sir?  Are you there?”

Aoshi considered his options.  After a moment, he gave a faint sigh.  “Yes.  I’m still here.   This ‘river’ starts in the Administration sector, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.  “Make restoration of this area your top priority.”

“Yes, sir.”

The phone snapped shut.  Aoshi turned to Ken.  “What sort of program will corrupt everything in a runner’s wake?”

The administrator blinked.  “You’re saying the runner spiked the system?”

‘I’m asking if it’s possible,” he corrected.

“Yes.”  Ken looked thoughtful.  “That’s a rare commodity though; like a designer program.  They have different names, but they all do the same thing.  Ball of String, Cookie Crumbs …” He blinked.  “If that’s the case, things are both better and worse.”

“How so?”

“Means the system will come up on its own again in a few minutes, but it will take a while before we find every trace of corrupted data,” Ken explained.  “That program is black-ops; once the runner activates it, CC will seed a tiny data-shard at pre-arranged intervals wherever the runner goes.  They’re completely dormant and give off no noise at all, unless the runner detonates it by remote.”

Jinei looked fascinated.  “It’s a trail of _explosives?_ ” 

“…sort of.  It’s not like it blows up the network – I guess you could say it functions more like an electro-magnetic pulse.  Works in a chain if I remember correctly – the first one sends out a static burst which has an area effect and scrambles the immediate vicinity, which touches off the _next_ shard, and so on … all in less than a split second.”

“Wherever the runner goes, he sows chaos in his wake.” Aoshi murmured.  “It’s powerful.”

“Powerful, but dangerous,” Ken said.  “It scrambles every bit of data in its path.  That includes Battousai, and it includes the runner’s signal.  Not to mention it leaves a pretty obvious indication of where the runner came into the system, which is bad for avoiding traces.  It’s often used more as a last ditch dead man’s switch – if the runner is going down anyway, may as well set it off to cause chaos in his wake.  That’s the general philosophy.”

“What happens to a runner in that situation?” Jinei asked suddenly.

Ken glanced at him.  “Usually the network they’re in goes into emergency repair mode, which means it automatically ejects any data that’s not meant to be there.  If the runner was still alive, they’d be out.”

“In one piece?” 

“Not really, Jinei-sama.  An exit like that is very traumatic.  And in this case, you have nothing to worry about.  The system registered a second and lethal head-strike from Battousai just before the network went down.”

“But Battousai was _also_ corrupted by this effect.”  Jinei’s voice was very soft. 

“Yes, but …”

The administrator’s voice died.  Aoshi watched the look on Ken’s face as he realised what Jinei was driving at. 

If the runner had activated the program _before_ the second strike, the AI’s signal would have shattered before the damage could be done.

Which meant that, against all odds, the runner had faced Battousai and survived. 

“Contact the main security office and have _them_ run a trace,” Jinei instructed.  “Find that runner.  ED one can track him down and bring him in.  I want to find who he’s working for.  _Bring that runner to me._ ” 

Ken nodded hurriedly, face pale.  “Yes, sir.” 

Aoshi turned on his heel and walked away.

“Shinomori …” The grin in Jinei’s voice could be _heard_.  “For the second time, you’re walking away.  _Where_ are you going?”

“Home,” he replied coldly.                            

“Now?”

Aoshi glanced over his shoulder, fixing Jinei with a narrow look.  “I’ve been awake for twenty four hours.  As you have already seen, my judgment is starting to slip.   I need sleep.”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, instead walking to the lift bank and pressing the down button as he had almost two hours beforehand. 

Jinei made no move to stop him.  The statement was, after all, entirely true.  Yet returning home to sleep was the last thing on his mind.

There was someone he had to see.

 ---------

She awoke to screeching in her ears and a sick, sharp pain that pierced through her head, and the sound of her own choking as she struggled to breathe through the pressure in her chest.  It took her a moment to separate sound from sight and touch; another one to realise she’d fallen from the chair.  The carpet burned under her cheek and she’d somehow managed to twist the visor half from her head. 

Kaoru opened one eye to the blur of her living room floor and one outstretched, twitching hand, still gripping a snapped metal tube.  She swallowed and tasted blood, and knew from the warmth on her ears that she was in trouble.  Still gasping painfully to pull air in through lungs that seemed paralysed, she reached up a hand and slid the visor the rest of the way from her face, flinching as the earpieces dragged free. 

Immediately one of the screaming sounds from her board stopped, as her connection to it was severed.  It was a sound, she decided fuzzily, that she’d always found funny; a warning that she was about to flatline, which when she thought about it came too damn late to change anything anyway. 

There were still needling sounds coming from the board; other alerts that she probably needed to pay attention to.  For now, Kaoru tried to get up.  She failed; her foot was still tangled in the chair.  Her second attempt and she folded _over_ the chair, clinging to its padded back like a child and trying to focus.  There was a spitting, sparking sound from her board and a thin curl of smoke rising from it.  One of the alerts.    Her board was toast.

The other was blinking steadily counting down numbers at her.  She couldn’t make them out, but she knew from the flicker what it was doing. 

_Counting the seconds since compromise._

She had no time.  She had to let go of the chair and _move._ Kaoru staggered, lurched sideways and collided with the wall with a faint sob of pain, then moved again as she finally heard another sound cutting in over the screaming of her board.  The heavy beat of  rotor blades.  

Kaoru turned her gaze toward the door and saw _him_ ; a blurred image of bloody hair and golden eyes bearing down on her with a sword.  She screamed and slid down the wall, trying to back through it.  And between one blink and the next, he was gone. 

_Oh shit.  That’s bad._

She swiped sweat away from her face and tried not to notice her nose was trickling blood; staggered to her feet and dragged herself along the wall toward the bathroom with her eyes mostly squeezed shut against the light.  _Tiny_ bathroom.  Used to be a linen closet in what used to be a hotel. 

Had a boarded up laundry chute down to what was now the carpark.  She’d long since pried the nails loose and left it hanging open.  Hackers _needed_ another exit, even one as reckless as this. 

There was a banging sound at the door.  Kaoru’s fingers gripped the edge of the chute and yanked it down, resting across its edge for the slightest of seconds, trying to pull a decent breath and brace herself for what had to happen next.  _Blink._   Golden eyes in the darkness.  She squeezed her eyes shut with a faint whimper.  _You’re not there._

She clawed into the chute and let herself slide in as the door was kicked, and then the first gunshots went off as security tried to dislodge the wedged chair.  There was enough of her mind left to smirk at that.  And then she was falling again for the second time that night; only this time, there were no constellations, no glory of the city. Just the long, dark tunnel and the thin square of light at the corner of the basement carpark, packed with as many sheets and old musty blankets and soft-filled garbage bags as she’d been able to get away with.

The landing still squeezed the breath from her body and sent her tumbling roughly across the bags and sliding to a stop on concrete, skinning her elbow.  She coughed, spat on the ground - _don’t look -_ and tried to drag herself to her feet.  The world was hazy and tilted, and there was a dark figure running toward her, short and fast.  Kaoru snarled and clenched her eyes shut, trembling hands balling into fists.

Then she fell onto the concrete and curled up with a soft gasp as her body finally refused to cooperate.   Her eyes cracked open to find the blur bending over her and she shut them again.  “Damn it,” she breathed, words slurred.  “You’re not _real._ ”

The blur had a voice.  It said, “Kaoru-san?”

\--------- 

The ground team arrived a bare minute after the air team, both halves of ED One combining in their effort to block off all exits and systematically quarter the area, starting with the origin point.  Hackers always ran; rarely did they escape.  ED One was a squad of sixteen members at full rank; today they were one short.  It wouldn’t matter.  Fifteen fully outfitted corporate soldiers swarmed into the Kumisazaki complex, intent on finding and capturing the individual known as Kamiya Kaoru.

The squad of four that were assigned to the basement car park were prepared for several possibilities; for a car screaming toward the exit attempting to run the blockade in the process of being set up outside; for the runner to panic and open fire at them.  They were even prepared to find and dispose of a body if the runner was defiant enough to kill themselves first.  Some did, especially if their employers were rival _zaibatsu._

What they weren’t prepared for was to come face to face with a slight girl in her teens, humming and swinging a full picnic basket at her hip as she made for the basement stairs.  It caused them to hesitate for a split second.  And then grimly, the squad leader drew his rifle up. 

“You!  Stop there!”

The girl turned toward them and saw the gun.  She was pretty, though she didn’t even look old enough to be out of school.  The loose, spaghetti-strapped violet summer dress did nothing to help that impression; nor did the long trail of dark hair twisted into a braid and the petite handbag slung over one shoulder. The picnic basket went flying as she shrieked and flung bangled wrists over her head. 

“Aaah!  I didn’t do anything!”

The men blinked. The squad leader casually avoided the tumbling basket and stepped forward, eyes narrowed.  “Who are you?”

One green eye peeked between careful fingers. “Who are _you_?”

“I’m asking the questions here,” he snapped.  “Why are you in this building.”

“Oh that’s okay.  I’m taking breakfast to my boyfr—my picnic basket!” she sprang upright again, lunging for the fallen basket. 

The squad leader stopped her by catching her arm, pulling her back to stand straight as he stared down at the basket.  The contents had spilled across the concrete.  Shaved ham, cheese, fresh bread, tomatoes.  Nothing sinister about it.   

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

She smiled sweetly and yanked her hand out of his grasp with ease.  “Who’s _yours?_ ”

His eyes narrowed; further still as he heard the muffled laughter from one of the men behind him. “Not funny, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl,” she corrected with a sharp grin. “I haven’t done anything wrong, so unless you’re charging me with something can I go?”

“We’re not the police,” he began in exasperation and was cut off by her gasp.

“You’re _not?_   Oh.  Well … hmm.  _Aha!_ You’re corporate pirates!”

“Enforcement Division,” he corrected between his teeth.  “And police or not, our jurisdiction holds.  Who are you here to—“

“Same difference.  Oh, wait, this is too rich …” 

And without any warning she turned and scurried back toward a car.  The squad leader flung his arm forward with a tight smile, ordering his squad forward.  Innocent of hacking or not, this girl was obviously trying to ditch them in a hurry – which meant she was guilty of something.  His hesitation was gone; authority hardened his voice.  “You will halt, girl.”

She halted in her tracks as they flanked her, eyeing the guns nervously.  “But I’m not a terrorist or anything.”

“Then why are you running?”

“I am _not!_ ” she protested.  “Oh, for – look!  Here, watch closely.  I’ll move slowly, I know how hare-trigger you goon types can be.  I’ll get you some ID.”

She turned to face him fully, putting her left arm up in the air.  Her right hand delved carefully into her handbag, pulling out a small red and gold badge.  He recognised the style and groaned inwardly at the sudden complication. 

“Makimachi Misao, reporter for Juice!” she said cheerfully, flashing the press ID at them.  “And _you_ guys are a story that will be my entry into the big time.  If you’ll just wait I’ll get my camera from the car…” She turned and, blithely ignoring the guns, laid a hand on the car door.

“Stop right there!”  He jerked the rifle up.

“Why?”  Misao blinked.  “You guys get nothing but bad press from us.  Doesn’t that hurt? Here I am, offering to show you guys _in action!_   Whether you’re here to find a terrorist or a gas leak, I’ll cover it!  You’ll look so good!  And honestly, can’t you allow a girl a little ambit—“

She broke off, paling, as he shoved the muzzle of the rifle into her face.  “That’s enough.” He turned to his second.  “This chick’s a waste of our time.  Cover the area.  Runner’s probably not down here or he’d have used this chick blathering to make a run for it.”

“So you’re looking for a hacker guy, huh?” Misao said softly, leaning back from the gun.  He gave her a sharp look, and she smiled whimsically. He was pleased to see that she was sweating, at least. “… Is he cute?”

“Get into your car,” he snarled.  “Get out.  You’re blocking our operation.”

“But the media are allowed to—“

“Out.”

“My picnic bas—“

He swung the rifle away and planted a shot through the back window.  Misao gave a short scream, and then backed away as he swung back to her. “Last chance.”

“Sir, yes sir!” she squeaked, jerking the door open behind her and all but leaping in behind the wheel.  She locked her door, peering out at him nervously as he pulled his radio out.

“There’s a journalist coming out in a dark green Honda Remix,” he said wearily.  “She hasn’t recorded anything.  Let her out.”

He leveled a glare at the girl in the car.  Misao gave him a small salute, face pale as she drove through the exit to the parking lot.  He gave a small smile.  Even stubborn reporters would shut up if you threatened them enough…

“Sir!” 

He turned, and blinked at the look of urgency on his second’s face before he straightened.  “What have you found?”

They directed him to the dimly let areas at the back of the car park, and he stared down at the rumpled blankets and garbage bags piled at the side.  In itself, something that bore investigation but could be explained as being a dumping ground for the residents.  And then he caught sight of the fresh crimson smear; a small, bloodied half-handprint and a thin stain that had slid along the blankets.  Someone had fallen here. 

Someone who was clearly now not in evidence—

He spun around with a horrified look, snatching the radio up again to hail the blockade.  “Cancel last!  Cancel!  _She’s got the hacker on board!_ ”

There was the yell of voices and the spatter of gunfire before he heard the sudden screeching of tires.  Misao was already through, driving fast.  He tracked back through the conversation, remembering her pale face …

Jinei was going to kill him. 

\--------- 

“I can’t believe you!”

“Misao…”

“Seriously!  You go and hack into some stupid _zaibatsu_ super secret place—“

“Misao—“

“ _And you don’t even tell me?”_ Misao shot a furious glare up into the rearview mirror.  Which was a wasted effort, as all she could see of Kaoru was one arm sticking out from under the blanket and clinging to the back of the seat.  “Aren’t we friends?”

“Yes, but--“

“Let me guess.  _Oh no!  I can’t get my friends in trouble!_   Is that the line you fed the rooster?  You’re just lucky I was there!”

Finally Kaoru managed to get her head free, staring into the mirror to meet her gaze with a look of total bewilderment.  It’d be funny, if her face wasn’t so pale and there wasn’t _blood_ drying under her nose.   There was blood on her neck and caked on one ear lobe as well.  Misao gritted her teeth against a sudden flare of panic, fixing her eyes on the dim, near-empty roads.  Sunrise in Lesser Tokyo.  A time she was usually either in bed or returning home to sleep.  Or maybe putting together a picnic basket … but definitely, definitely _not_ going thirty over the speed limit in an effort to shake pursuit from one of the corporate gods of the city. 

She glanced into the back again.  “Did that bullet hit you?”

Kaoru shook her head, then flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. 

“Then _what’s wrong?_ ” Misao said desperately, twisting around in her seat, one hand on the wheel. “What did you _do?_ You’re totally messed up!”

“Need a doctor,” Kaoru muttered absently.  “I’m seeing things.”

“Yeah, like _that’s_ the worst thing going on with you.  Kaoru, you’re bleeding!”

“Misao—“

“From the nose!  And the ears!  What did you do, stick your head in a microwave?”

“Misao—“

“You stuck your head into _something_ big and dangerous, didn’t you?  What were you _thinking?_ You said yourself that--”

“ _Misao, the road!”_

She jerked her eyes back to the street just as a dark sedan shot out in front of her, and yelped, spinning the wheel.  The Remix fishtailed, crunching its back corner into the sedan’s door.  Her fingers white-knuckled on the wheel, Misao swore in ways she knew Jiya _really_ wouldn’t approve of and glanced toward the sedan.  Instinct made her yelp and duck down low, slamming her foot down on the accelerator. 

There was the scrape of metal as the Remix shot forward.  A split second later, her side window shattered inward.  Misao turned her face away, cringing as pieces of glass rained down across her hair and bounced off her lap.  But she didn’t take her foot off the accelerator.  A moment later, the early morning sunlight vanished as her car shot into an alleyway between two apartment blocks.  It wasn’t really wide enough for a car.  She didn’t care.   A bit of scraped paintwork and some dents and an alley full of destroyed garbage cans were worth staying alive.  She just hoped she didn’t hit a cat.

In the mirror, she saw Kaoru’s hand lift shakily to pull the seatbelt on, and she grinned.  “Sorry.  Uh, but it’s necessary.”

“Did they shoot at us?”

“Yup.”  With silencers, if she wasn’t mistaken.  Which was kind of pointless, when she considered just how much noise they’d just made crashing into each other like that.  The problem was there wouldn’t be just one car after them; whoever Kaoru had pissed off would have called in reinforcements by now.  And there was a _chopper_ in the air.  She wasn’t going to be able to avoid _that_ for long.

She gave a sigh. “This seriously sucks.”

“Misao?”

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“…why were you there?”

“What?”  Misao clipped a dumpster at the end of the alley and flinched as she lost the front light.  Well, at least it was morning.  The street was clear.  She turned left.  “You mean in your basement?  It was Friday.”

“Friday?”

“You never got back to me about Friday.’

Kaoru put a hand over her eyes.  “So you turned up at _sunrise_?”

“ _Yes_ , I turned up at sunrise!”  Misao yelled.  “You’re making all these stupid enigmatic comments that make me think something’s wrong and when I ask outright you don’t answer!  I figured sure, you might have got some huge job or something.  And maybe you didn’t answer because you’d been hooked into the Net for three days straight.  _Which_ , I might add, you’ve done before.”

There was no response. Misao glanced back to see Kaoru curled on the seat under the blanket, hands holding her head.  She bit her lip, and added more quietly, “I even brought you breakfast.  You know.  Because you probably hadn’t eaten in ages.  Because you’re stupid like that.”

“Thanks _so_ much,” Kaoru whispered.

There was another car on the road behind her.  Misao glanced at it, then turned back to the road with a wry smile.  “Well, I wish I’d known what our plans were for the day.  I’d have worn something a little more practical for high speed chases.  Hang on.”

She floored the accelerator, hurtling down the street.  The car behind them was joined by another.  Standard procedure, she figured; try and make her panic and send a car round front to cut her off.  She refused to play.   There was another small laneway on the left.  Misao jerked the car around at the last moment, barely missing a corner bakery.  She sighed wistfully.  “That was really nice bread I got, too.  You know how expensive that stuff is these days?”

“Not as expensive as destroying your career.”

“Hah!” She grinned.  “You worried about that?  The corporations have to be nice to the press.  They’ll probably just try and buy me off.”

“Misao, they just _shot_ at you!”

“Uh.  Well, they did.  But they missed!”

“ _Not on purpose!”_

Not only that, but when it came to protecting their secrets and covering up the death of one journalist who was only liked by the teenage set, it was very clear which path the _zaibatsu_ would take.  She’d known that.  She had.  And she’d promised Jiya she’d be _careful_ , and she had.  Well, to a point.  But when it came to a choice between keeping her cover and her job, and helping a friend she quite liked after said friend almost literally fell from the sky bleeding and half-conscious …

“Well, okay.  I was getting bored with journalism anyway,” she said cheerfully.  “So I can’t go back to work, big deal.  They probably think I hired you to dig for corporate secrets.  Oh heck, they probably think you’re my boyfriend.”

“Your _what_?”

“They think you’re a guy.  Of course,” she added as she cleared the lane, “that’s likely to be cleared up the second they ransack your house and find your underwear drawer.”

The car shot back out into the street.  The same one they’d been on originally; the third car just ahead of them.  They’d cut behind it. Misao didn’t bother turning, but instead grinned fiercely and jerked the car slightly to the right, dog-legging down another lane.  There was the screeching of brakes behind them as the third driver finally realised what they’d done. 

“Besides, this way might work more to my advantage!” she continued.  “Just think!  If we get onto the news, all sorts of interesting people are bound to pay attention!”   

“You mean Aoshi?”

“Even if he’s ignored me every _other_ time,” muttered Misao.  “Let’s see him try and ignore _this._ You buckled in? _”_

“Yes.”

“Okay.  We’re going downtown.”

“Misao, you can’t … _drive_ downtown.”

“I know.”

She managed to take them another three streets before the helicopter finally closed on them.  Misao started swearing again, half expecting it to open fire on them.  But there were other cars on the road now as they approached the more rowdy area of downtown; they couldn’t afford to cause such a scene.   That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be weighing up that option anyway.  And if nothing else, the chopper would tail them, pinpointing their location for their ground team. 

“I can’t ditch that,” she said fretfully.  “Kaoru, can you run?”

Silence in the back seat.  Misao glanced into the mirror to see her slumped sideways, face pressed to the window.   In the brightening dawn, she was chalk white. 

“ _Kaoru_!”  She clenched the steering wheel with both hands.  “Dammit—“  And she couldn’t afford to stop now; best to just keep going and hope like hell Kaoru had just passed out.  She fought down a fresh wave of panic as two cars spun onto the street behind her.  They hadn’t shot at her past the first time; no clear shot on the driver, she guessed.  And Kaoru, they’d want alive for now.  Which gave her a little bit of time to play with.

Ahead she could see small, flickering points of orange.  Gaudy lanterns, strung out between the street lights, their light dimmed by the sun.  Chinatown.  And in downtown, it really didn’t matter what time of day it was.  There were always people with nothing better to do than stare.   The vendors were already out, setting up stalls along a street that had been closed to traffic long ago. 

_Well, this time they’re going to make an exception—_

The third car shot out onto the road directly in front of her with barely any warning, neatly cutting her off.  Misao gave a shriek and yanked the wheel around desperately.  The front corner of the Remix slammed into the sedan and she was thrown forward, smacking her head on the steering wheel.  Her vision blurred; tears sprung to her eyes as the car jarred to a stop.  She heard the sound of a car door opening, and let herself slump down further, hands dangling limply to the floor.

The driver’s side door was yanked at several times before it opened, and she felt a gloved hand close around her arm, pulling her roughly from the car.  Vision blurred or not, it didn’t matter.  He’d just made himself a very easy target. 

“I’m really sorry,” she slurred.

The man holding her arm just gave her a shake and snorted.  “Shut up.” 

Then he yelled as she lifted her hands and drove a kunai into each thigh.

Misao shot to her feet as he staggered and slammed a palm up into his chin, before latching onto his shirt and letting his weight drag them both to the ground out of the path of fire.  Bullets whined over her head as she fell, followed by angry swearing.  She gripped the rest of her knives in both hands and dove around the front of the car, yelling at the top of her lungs.

_“Kansatsu tobikunai!”_

She flung both braces of knives as hard as she could at the only other man she could see, and hoped like hell that corporate goons only traveled in pairs.  She felt a burn across one shoulder as a bullet ricocheted too close, and then the knives found their mark.  She was already moving again as the man started to fall, screaming at the blades in his legs. 

“ _Give_ me that.” She kicked him in the jaw and snatched away the gun, turning to aim desperately down the street.  The gun kicked in her hands.  She missed completely with her first two shots; the third cracked into the windscreen of the first oncoming car.  It barely slowed.  It was only with her fifth shot, hitting the front tire purely by luck, that the car swerved to the right; the front of the sedan dipped to smack into the concrete gutter.  They’d been going too fast, and the momentum had barely begun to lift the car when the second ploughed into them with a teeth-jarring crunch.

Fifteen feet in front of Chinatown, and they were drawing one hell of a crowd.

Misao yanked open the back door of the Remix as fast as she could and gave a short yelp as Kaoru thrust out a hand to her.  “Oh God!  I thought you were …um, asleep.”

“I _can’t_ sleep.”  Kaoru blinked at her as Misao slung the other woman’s arm over one shoulder, dragging her away.  Awake or not, she could barely walk straight, let alone run.

And this wasn’t the movies; she’d bought mere seconds with which to vanish into safety, before someone could struggle out of one of those cars and start firing at them.  It was probably a trick she wasn’t going to be able to pull off.

Luckily, she didn’t have to.  Some rivalries ran deep, after all.

An angry cry rang out from nearby, but it was quickly taken up by many.  Misao turned, blinking in surprise, as a lean man sprinted past her with a drawn sword.  His head was clean shaven except for a long, greasy topknot; he was dressed in a pair of jeans and not much else.  Tattoos could be seen, cleanly etched down his back. 

He wasn’t alone.  Misao stared as a pack of men and two women descended on the cars yelling wildly, seeming unfazed by the chopper that was now banking upward.  It took her another moment before she understood what was happening, and then she gave a snort.

“Misao..?”

“Street samurai,” she said by way of quick explanation, hauling Kaoru further down the street.  “You could say they’ve just found an easy kill, and they all think they owe the corporations payback for the riots.”

Still, it was good for them.  Even if she did wince at the inevitable bloodbath going on behind them. The suits would probably win.  She wasn’t going to stay around to find out.

“I didn’t mean that,” Kaoru said faintly.  “I didn’t know you could use a gun.”

_Oh… that._   “I can’t.  Didn’t you see my sucky aim?”

“And you just happened to have a whole bunch of throwing knives littering your car.”

“Okay, _those_ I can use.”

“I thought you were a journalist.”

“I am,” Misao said cheerfully as she hauled her friend into the nearest dark alley she could find.  “But everyone needs a hobby."

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intermission.

The brawl that starts at the west end of Chinatown escalates street wide as reinforcements arrive to defend both sides, and only when it threatens to scale into a riot do the downtown police arrive to scatter the crowd with rubber bullets.  Much of the event is captured on film by various agents of the media.  A report is filed with the police, and another copy of the report together with a list of possible motives and outcomes is forwarded to the office of Kanryuu Takeda …

 

\---------

 

A dark-haired medtech finally pushes the drunken, hypochondriac admirer out of her backstreet surgery and sweeps up the glass left by his last broken bottle, sighing in exasperation at the idiocy of the people she surrounds herself with.  She’s been up all night, dealing with the injuries left by the last street brawl on the streets of Chinatown.  They’re a nightly occurrence.  She’s used to it.  But before she can close the doors and call it a night, the curtains are pushed aside and she comes face to face with the hopeful smile of a girl in a violet summer dress, dragging someone that is all too familiar to her.  She sighs and rubs a hand over her eyes.  So much for sleeping …

 

\---------

 

Barely listening to squad leader Harada’s stammered and lame excuses for not following correct procedure and not even searching the journalist’s car, a boy with a vacantly cheerful face casually paces through an apartment.  He has picked up straight away that the hacker they’re after is a woman, but on the heels of being informed that the two girls have escaped into Lesser Tokyo he is searching for something else.  He finds it as the technicians obtain a copy of the salvageable data from Kaoru’s network board; a list of recent email files, and his blue eyes catch on a subject header.

“Leave the journalist’s name out of any reports,” he says, smiling in amusement at the words he’s reading.  _What does that stand for, Sexy Sano?_   “And that information goes no further, to anyone.  It’s easier if we focus on finding Kamiya-san with a free-standing order to kill any who assist her in evading us.  Plausible deniability will help to smooth things with the media.  Ah, and Harada-san!” he beams.  “You’re fired…”

 

\---------

 

A young woman with a headache brought on by earphone feedback finally leaves the Sumitomo Research facility for the night, but she doesn’t go straight home.  Instead she drives across Greater Tokyo to an antique mailbox located near the expansive parks and drops a plain envelope through the slot.  It’s a dangerous thing she does, but corporate espionage has always been high risk for high pay, and the events of the evening are important enough that they need to be passed on immediately …

 

\---------

 

In a crisp, wintry landscape, a redheaded swordsman drops into a crouch and looks over one shoulder with a wary look on his cross-scarred face.  His drawn sword is balanced for the moment across his knees as he brushes snow from his hakama, and he’s all too aware that the faded red colour of his gi against the white makes of him too easy a target.  Completely unaware of every act and retaliation that has been committed in his name in the past twelve hours, his eyes spot movement down the slope and he gives a faint smile before launching to the attack …

 

\---------

 

Eyeing with interest the reports that have landed on his desk in the early morning, the DA Director leans back in his chair and smiles soothingly at his ranting secretary.  “Relax, Houji,” he says, lighting a cigarette.  “This is not Himura’s style. On the other hand, I may just have here what I need to break him…”

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenshin has visitors while playing out in the snow, and Megumi knows this day is only going to get worse from here.

He landed lightly by the base of the tree and rested his back against it, checking further down the slope.  He _had_ seen it; a faint shadow across the snow as something moved, melting into the woods.  Kenshin sheathed his sword quietly, taking care to breathe behind shelter of the tree trunk so that his breath wouldn’t be a giveaway.  The air was bitingly cold.

Carefully, he crouched down against the bark and risked a glance downhill.  There was nobody to be seen, but he didn’t expect anyone.  Instead, he scrutinized the low-lying bushes … and gave a small smile.  One had been brushed against recently; the leaves on one side were free of snow. 

_Clumsy, for you._   His smile faded.  If that were the case, then it was probably a trick; a deliberate attempt to lead him astray.  The man he was up against was far too smart to make such a mistake.  Kenshin scanned the rest of the grounds suspiciously, and found nothing else seemingly out of place.

None of which helped him at all.  If his only hint was to avoid the obvious setup, that left a great deal of space to quarter in search of his quarry.  He took a small breath, then rounded the tree and moved soundlessly for the clump of bushes, staying low until he reached their shelter.  The shadow had moved _down_ hill, but hadn’t passed by this way.  Which meant the most likely place for his quarry to have gone was up into the trees.  Kenshin lifted his gaze carefully from his hiding place, peering up into the snow-laden branches.

“You know—“

He yelped as a large hand found his collar and dragged him through the bushes, swinging around to slam him down flat on his back.

“--sometimes things are _exactly_ as they appear.  Idiot.” 

His attempt to find a dignified response to that was spoiled by the fact that the attack had left him gasping like a hooked fish.  Instead, Kenshin settled for glaring at the man who now stood over him, massive arms folded across an equally impressive chest.  His scowl was met with a smirk that seemed equal parts derision and arrogance, before the man turned and sauntered off, the corner of his white cape slapping into Kenshin’s face.

“Get up,” the man continued, sounding bored.  “I didn’t agree to train you so you could laze around all day.”

Kenshin gritted his teeth as he rolled over.  “You know very well that’s not fair, Shishou.  You’re changing the rules—“

“Rules?” Hiko grinned outright.  “If I am, whose fault is that?  You don’t have time to whine about _rules_ in a fight, _baka deshi_.  I suppose if you’re really lucky your enemy will stop to laugh at you…”

Kenshin staggered to his feet and drew his sword, trying hard not to flush with embarrassment.  He could be the most brilliant swordsman in the world and he’d _still_ be reduced to a fumbling novice in front of this man.  Maybe he was more of a masochist than he’d thought.  He glared at his master’s back, lifting his sword to guard.  “I’m ready.”

“You’re _never_ ready,” was the derisive reply. 

But he _was_ getting better.  Kenshin saw the telltale, subtle shift in Hiko’s stance and dived left as the powerful swordsman whirled in a blur of white to strike where he’d been standing.  The redhead landed, skidding slightly in the snow, and launched himself forward, sword slicing in an arc for Hiko’s unguarded ribs.

_Supposedly_ unguarded.  The elbow caught him in the jaw with enough force that he heard his teeth snap together painfully, and then he was tumbling back into the snow with ringing ears and just enough presence of mind to bring his sword up to block the next blow.  He rolled again, scrabbling upright as he turned to gaze at Hiko warily.

Every morning at sunrise, they would find each other on the mountain and fight.  And every morning without fail, Kenshin would lose.  Normally he could at least hold his own, but for the past few days he had been far too distracted.  And Hiko had no time for distractions, nor did he have any sympathy.  Kenshin hadn’t bothered telling him what was on his mind, even though by the narrow looks his master kept throwing him it was obvious that Hiko knew he was preoccupied. 

It just made him a far more brutal opponent.  Stalking the younger swordsman, Hiko kept on the offensive, delivering blow after blow that Kenshin had trouble deflecting.  Those few that slipped past his guard _hurt;_ never mind that Hiko was only hitting him with the back of the blade.  He narrowed his eyes.  He’d lost far too much lately, and it didn’t seem likely that his losing streak would end any time soon.  Maybe it was time he _also_ stopped playing by the rules. 

With that thought, Kenshin ducked the next blow, drew the iron sheath from his waist and spun low, aiming for Hiko’s midsection.  Predictably Hiko’s next stroke sliced the sheath in two, but he’d already let go of it, turning with his momentum to slice _high_ \--

Hiko caught the blade in his fingers and gave him an insufferable smirk.  “I guess that’s an improvement.”

A moment later, Kenshin found himself face first in the snow, sword thudding down beside him.  He was in the process of spitting it out as Hiko took a step back, voice lifted imperiously. 

“ _Do Ryu Sen!”_

_Oh no—_

There was a loud, cracking explosion of snow and frozen earth as Hiko drove his sword into the ground.  Kenshin knew he _should_ have rolled and snatched his sword up, finding some way to block or at the very least _avoid_ the oncoming tidal wave of white.  Instead, he covered his head with both hands and wondered dismally if Hiko would actually bother to dig him out again.

It was a question he didn’t need to have answered, as it turns out.  The atmosphere _changed_ on him, then; stilled, froze in time.  He uncovered his head to glance curiously up at the downpour that seemed to hover just above his head.  There was no movement.  He turned his head to see Hiko standing there, black hair still flaring about his head and trapped in midswing.

Kenshin rolled out from under the frozen deluge and rose to his feet.  “Computer.  Status report.”

\-- _You have a visitor.  All programs disengaged._

“Thank you.”

He sighed as the world around him faded to black, and waited for the system to log him out. 

\---------

Kenshin would be training at this time of the morning; first online, and then off.  By the amount of time the redhead took to answer the door, Aoshi assumed he was still wired into the Net.  He leaned against the steel railing of the balcony, glancing down to the wide streets below.  Kenshin still lived in Greater Tokyo, but he’d abandoned his allotted corporate apartment long ago for something on the cheaper – and more private - scale.  Nevertheless, the apartment block was luxurious and still a far cry from anything to be found on the other side of the gates.

He was very tired.  It had been a long time since he’d felt the need to stay awake so long.  And it would be a long time still before he allowed himself the luxury.

There was just too much to do.

The door slid open behind him.  “Aoshi?”

Aoshi turned.  Kenshin stood in the doorway, looking at him in confusion.  Maybe he was wrong, and Kenshin _had_ just woken; his red hair was an unbrushed mess, much of it having escaped the standard ponytail, and he was only dressed in a pair of worn black jeans.  But his violet eyes were sharply alert – if a little bewildered. 

The redhead stared at him a moment more, before blinking.  “You haven’t slept.” 

“No time,” Aoshi replied.

The violet eyes closed briefly.  Kenshin let go of the door, turning away.  “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

Aoshi crossed the threshold, letting the door slide shut.  The apartment was spacious, even if the kitchen and the network area were all part of the same huge room.  The floors were polished timber and spotless; there wasn’t a thing out of place, except for the tangle of wiring by the computer.  Aoshi had rarely visited Kenshin here.  He stood awkwardly just inside the door, watching as Kenshin padded to the kitchen bench, turning on the kettle.  Aoshi narrowed his eyes at the sight of the black kanji still etched into the redhead’s right shoulder blade, half hidden by the fall of tangled hair.

“You haven’t removed the tattoos.”

“I don’t see the need to.” 

_Some of us just remember._ But he said nothing.  What Kenshin did was his own business, after all.  Instead, he waited until Kenshin finished in the kitchen, and murmured a faint _thank you_ as the redhead handed him a mug of hot tea.

“All right,” Kenshin said softly.  “We have privacy.  What’s happened?”

There was no easy way to say what he wanted to, and Aoshi wasn’t known for dissembling in any case.  Nevertheless, he hesitated before replying.  “Last night, the Kurogasa division was cracked by a netrunner.   They were intent on the Nanodust Project.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Kenshin said, voice neutral.

He permitted himself a faint shrug.  “I know.”

Kenshin relaxed.  “Corporate spy?”

“…I don’t believe so.  Their original search was for an individual.  One of Jinei’s ‘volunteers’.”

“So it might be personal.” Kenshin looked at him warily.  “And you’ve been there all night.”

“Yes."

“Tell me the worst.”

Aoshi took a breath, and then said flatly, “The runner raised enough security flags that the Battousai sentry was activated.”

The redhead was silent, his face a blank mask.  It was possible, Aoshi thought, that the faint, hitched breath that Kenshin sucked in was unnoticeable to anyone less observant. 

He wasn’t sure why he had paused, then.  To test the waters, perhaps – the last known victim of the Battousai program had hurt Kenshin badly, which was no surprise given who that victim had _been_ to him.  If he reacted now as he reacted then, there would be no point at all Aoshi coming here to tell him. 

Part of him acknowledged he was being cruel. 

“I see,” Kenshin murmured finally, turning away.  Dismissive.  Quiet.

Aoshi narrowed his eyes.  “No.  You don’t.”

“What else _is_ there _?_ ”

There was genuine venom in Kenshin’s soft reply; something he clearly regretted immediately.  The redhead took a breath, turning back to meet his gaze.  “I’m sorry.  Aoshi.  Thank you for telling me.”  He smiled ruefully.  “I imagine Shishio will be disappointed that you’ve spoiled his gloating.”

Satisfied with that response, Aoshi shook his head.  “Shishio will call you this morning.  It won’t be to gloat.  The runner survived.”

\---------

He didn’t know how to feel.  _Survived_?   An impossibility, he’d thought.  And a straw to clutch.  And: _Damn you, Aoshi._   For holding back that information until last, even though Kenshin could guess why.  He knew his shock was written on his face; Aoshi was staring at him intently enough that he instinctively tried to hide it.  But …

“…how?” he finally asked, once he found his voice again.  His mind was already busy, running through his options.  “That’s … nobody _else_ did.”

“Activated a designer program at the point of lethal impact,”Aoshi said.  “He’ll be badly hurt.”

“But he _survived_.”

“Yes.”

Abruptly Kenshin spun on his heel, stalking for the doorway to his bedroom, throwing his next words over his shoulder.  “Shouldn’t you be hunting him down then?”

“I was transferred from ED One yesterday,” Aoshi said mildly, sipping his tea.

“I see.” His mouth quirked. _Alas._ And he _still_ didn’t know how to react.  He was functioning on automatic; whatever he did now, at the very least he would need to get dressed.  His fingers reached for the grey t-shirt, slung over the rail of his bed.  Closest thing to hand.  He shrugged it on.  “You still have contact with your team?”

“Checked just before I arrived.”  They wouldn’t alter radio frequency just because Aoshi was transferred; his record was impeccable.  The security second would be able to patch in and listen any time he liked.  It occurred to Kenshin to wonder just _why_ he had been transferred; something to ask later. 

“They lost the runner in Chinatown and were forced to call off the original chase due to street interference,” Aoshi continued.

That information made him pause.  _Lesser Tokyo.  Downtown … bad territory._   “Street samurai or yakuza?  Were they in on it?”

“Street samurai.  Unsure.  Could be coincidental.  Sumitomo won’t overlook the possibility.”

Kenshin considered that a moment.  That meant things could get dangerous.  His mouth thinned as he reached for his jacket.  It didn’t matter.

“I thought,” Aoshi continued softly, “You would like to know.”

_Yes.  Thank you._

“Shishio _will_ call,” he said, voice thoughtful.  Shoes were next.  “He won’t be able to resist.  The sooner he can force me to betray him, the sooner he can be rid of me.”

“Yes.”

Shishio would order him after the netrunner.  Given his role in recent months, he supposed it was technically part of his jurisdiction in any case; never mind that Shishio would probably attempt to throw suspicion on Kenshin merely because the runner survived _._

The runner _survived_. 

An attack on Sumitomo – a family he was still loyal to, despite Shishio – meant that he should, by rights, act in accordance with Shishio’s wishes.  Perhaps he still would have, if the program activated had not been _Battousai._   That simple detail – an ICE sentry he had been both naïve enough and arrogant enough to create, which would in turn destroy everything he cared about – meant that instead, he was more inclined to right the balance.

“Thank you, Aoshi.”  He pulled the leather tie from his red hair and shook it out, before gathering it back up again and pulling it into a proper ponytail.  Bed hair was not a good look for the streets.  _And speaking of which …_ He returned to the doorway, combing fingers through the red ends of his hair in an attempt to make them more manageable.  Aoshi was most of the way through his tea; there were dark shadows under his eyes. 

“You look exhausted.  Take the spare bed,” he suggested.

Aoshi blinked, glancing at him.  **“** What will you do?”

“Wait for his call,” Kenshin said agreeably.  “And then obediently agree to hunt down this criminal hacker.  What else is there to do?”

He could swear Aoshi was at least _thinking_ about smiling.  The thought made him grin. 

Aoshi put the mug of tea down.  “I’ll go with you.”

“You need sleep,” he protested.

“ _You_ need help.”

He paused.  He could do this on his own, and Shishio would hardly expect him to turn up in Lesser Tokyo with Aoshi at his side.  On the other hand, given his lack of popularity in certain areas …

“All right,” he said finally.  “If you’re sure.”

Right on cue, his phone rang. 

They glanced at each other.  Then Aoshi turned and walked quietly to the front door as Kenshin snapped the phone up from the network area, heading back into the bedroom for the wooden stand by the dresser.

“Himura here.”  His voice was flat.  The caller ID had already told him everything he needed.

“ _Sempai_ ,” the voice crackled back.  “I do believe we need to talk.”

He was already reaching for his sword.

\---------

By the time Misao managed to drag her to the steps leading down to Megumi’s surgery, Kaoru was shivering violently.  Her head didn’t hurt as much, but she suspected that was because _everything_ was dulled.  She was seeing the world in fragments, when she had the nerve to open her eyes and look at it at all. 

Increasingly, however, keeping her eyes shut was becoming just as futile.  The flashes of blood, the killer’s eyes were lurking in the darkness just as much as the light.  He was an after image; a ghost that she knew _was_ _not there._

Yet she flinched every time he lifted the sword, just the same.

“Kaoru.  Kaoru?”  Misao’s worried voice, and Misao’s hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her balanced over a shoulder, and Misao had been lying to her, which shouldn’t be that important should it?  

“She’s awake,” another irritated voice cut in.  “If I know her, she doesn’t have any choice about it.  Sit her down on the bed.”

There was a scratchy softness underneath her a moment later and the supporting hand moved to her back.  Kaoru fought nausea and lifted her head, opening her eyes to peer blearily around the room, recognizing the familiar clutter of the surgery that Megumi kept in the basement of a herbalist in Chinatown.  Misao was there, chattering away nervously to the woman whose back was to them as she rummaged through a drawer.  Kaoru felt a faint stab of guilt, mustering up a sickly smile even as Megumi turned back to them, fixing her with a stare of pure fury.

“Megumi-san—“

“Don’t bother,” she interrupted sweetly.  “I’ve heard all of your excuses before.  I see you’re pumped on something again.  Much more of this and you actually _will_ look like a tanuki.”  She paused, eyeing her with carefully neutral expression.  “This time you went too far, didn’t you?”

Before she could find a way to protest that wouldn’t be outright lying, cool fingers caught her chin and lifted it, turning Kaoru’s eyes to the pen light.  She flinched at the brightness; squeezed her eyes shut against the image of blood-red hair that came with it, opening them again only at Megumi’s curt order.

“What did you take?” Megumi asked.  “I need to know.”

“Standard booster shot.  The kind Sano gets.  It’ll…” she broke off in a fresh wave of shivering, and closed her eyes again.  “…go away in another day.”

Megumi sighed, walking away.  There was the sound of running water. 

“Wait, there’s more than that,” Misao protested hotly.  “She got hit by something online.  And she’s bleeding!  Look at—”

“You’re absolutely right,” was the waspish response.  “I don’t know how I managed to miss all that blood.  Thank goodness I had you to point it out to me.”

Misao shut up.  For a moment.  Kaoru grinned tiredly; a fleeting smile that faded as the journalist added sheepishly “Also, she said she’s seeing stuff.”

“Right.  Here, take this.  You can help me clean her up so I can get a good look at her ears.” 

“Um, sure…"

“What are you seeing, Kaoru-chan?”  Megumi seemed very far away.  “Tell me what happened.”

The shivering was getting worse.  She hunched forward, folding arms across her chest.  A blanket was settled across her shoulders by one of them; she wasn’t sure which.  Kaoru took a breath, trying to put her thoughts in some order.  “I was hit by black ICE on a run. I jacked out …” 

The strike had hit her; his second one, a headshot.  A surety no matter what hardware you used.  But everything had shattered at that point; Kaoru, the samurai, his sword.  Unprecedented.  She didn’t want to think about how close she’d cut it.

And now she was seeing him.  Everywhere. 

“Kaoru-san?” There was warmth at her ear of a different kind; cotton dabbing onto the blood at her earlobe.  Misao sounded very worried.  She felt guilty.  They would both be angry with her, and they wouldn’t be the only ones. 

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, voice a little stronger.  How to explain?  “The ICE program … hurt me on the way out.  And there was a lot of disruption in the system – everything got messed up.  I think…”

“Are you seeing the ICE program?”

Kaoru opened her eyes again, glancing up to Megumi’s face.  Everything was much hazier than it had been.  “Yes.  He’s … he’s like a samurai.”  
  
Megumi stared at her.  “You ran into a samurai program?  What’d he look like?”

“Red hair—“

“Doesn’t matter.” Megumi was all brisk efficiency again, moving to wash the blood from her other ear.  “You’re not the only runner to stagger to me after a botched run.”  She paused, and then added more softly, “I’m going to give you something to neutralise the booster shot, and then I’m going to give you a sedative.  Rest will help a little.” 

Kaoru bit her lip.  “I shouldn’t stay here.”

“Too bad,” Megumi said pleasantly.  “And too late.  Your friend can move you when I, as your doctor, deem it safe.  Now shut up and lie down, and don’t think you’ve heard the end of this.”

She barely felt the cool moisture as her arm was swabbed. The prick of the needle made her flinch, but only once.  By the time Megumi deemed it safe to apply the sedative, Kaoru was already well on the way to unconsciousness.

\---------

Rest would help, but it wouldn’t solve the problem.  And the problem was one that Megumi, with her back street surgery, would be unable to deal with. 

At least the physical damage wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed.  Once the blood was cleared away from Kaoru’s ears, she was able to find the source of the injury; not a hemorrhaging, as she’d first feared, but rather an aggravated damage to the inner part of the ear.  There was a line of blistering and abraded skin, raw flesh that was clotted with blood.  Megumi sighed. 

If Kaoru had been using a human-nerve interface, the stupid girl would be dead.  Instead, she’d suffered no more than lacerations from – she assumed – ripping a headset away that would have been close to white-hot at the time.  The nose bleed _was_ a bad sign, but significantly less worrying on its own.  She tried to be grateful about that; instead, she felt her sense of irritation grow.

“Do you know,” she said to the girl in the summer dress, still sitting on the edge of the bed, “how much this girl makes me want to slap her on a regular basis?”

“Funny,” the girl said cheerfully.  “I think she’s said the same thing about me.”

Megumi blinked, and then smiled wearily.  “How much trouble is she in?  How involved are you?”

She very pointedly didn’t ask the girl’s name.  Which was fine.  Judging by the shrewd look in the girl’s green eyes, she had no intention of offering it.  Much safer for both of them that way. 

“Technically I’m not involved at all,” the girl said. 

“You brought her to my door.”

“Well, yes.  But that’s because she gave me directions. Er, sort of.  She kept blurring out on me and getting mixed up.  Once, I almost dragged her into one of those adult film stores by mistake—“

Megumi fixed the girl with a level stare.

“—but seriously, she was in trouble, so I helped out, but I didn’t help her _cause_ the trouble.  If that’s what you’re asking.  In fact, I have no clue what she did to get the suits onto her like that.”

“So she did run a corporation.”  The mention of black ICE had already confirmed that.  The ‘samurai’ had even told her which corporation they were referring to.

“I’m guessing so.”

“Where’s Yahiko?”

“I don’t know yet.”  The girl shrugged, looking a little nervous.  “I know he wasn’t at the apartment, because otherwise Kaoru wouldn’t be taking off the way she did.  So … I have to assume he’s either safe somewhere else, or he’s the reason Kaoru dug herself so deep a hole.  I didn’t really get a chance to ask her.”

And _now_ she had to try and work out whether she should call around at Tae’s to see if she or Tsubame had seen Yahiko recently, or whether Sumitomo had moved far enough along in their search for the tanuki that calling known friends of Kamiya Kaoru would be a very bad move. 

Or whether she should get involved at all.  Better to hand it on to others.  One thing for sure, once Sano knew about this catastrophe, things would get much worse for everyone.  Megumi shook her head wryly and finished cleaning the dried blood away from Kaoru’s nose.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“Is she going to be okay?” the girl asked meekly.

“With enough time to rest, she’ll recover.”

“She’s not going to get that.  Tell me what’s wrong, so I can try and work around it.”

She glanced up again in surprise at the steely tone to the girl’s voice, and noticed for the first time – unforgivable of a doctor, even if she was distracted to hell by Kaoru’s straits – that the girl hadn’t come through events unscathed.  There was a bruise darkening along her forehead, and a thin, streaked mark across one shoulder that she recognized as a powder burn. 

Whoever this was, she’d worked very hard to get Kaoru here in one piece.  Megumi relaxed a little.  “You’re not abandoning her here, then?”

“Of course not!”  the girl sounded offended.

“Good.  You can take her off my hands in a few hours then.  Until then she can rest here.  Hopefully you’ll be safe enough until nightfall; I don’t officially open until then, so they won’t expect her to have come here.”  In fact, Sumitomo shouldn’t know she existed here at all, but above all things she was a pessimist.  Megumi turned back to the cabinet, pulling the disinfectant down calmly along with fresh gauze.

“So what’s wrong with her?”

“Apart from shock and an apparent death wish?   Severe neural stress for one.  That _is_ recoverable by rest.  A lot of it, of the convalescent kind.  The longer she can sleep the better.  Usually I’d prescribe a ban of the networks and anything that might excite the patient too much.  That,” she said sourly, “is likely to be impossible.”

“And the seeing things?”

“I’m not so sure with that.  It isn’t my area of expertise.”  Megumi advanced on the girl with the bowl of water, intent on cleaning the burn.  To her credit, the girl merely presented her shoulder for inspection, wincing a little as she set to work.  “But … if her mind is still replaying the last images it saw on the Net, then that points to neural damage of a kind.”

The mind could be hurt in unique ways, with the modern Net.  Kaoru had said everything had become _messed up_. Either Kaoru needed an expert on the Net or she needed a neural specialist; Megumi was neither.  But she had seen it before, on rare occasions. 

If her guess was right, Kaoru had wrenched herself out of the net … not quite intact.  Like corrupted data, tangled with other files and attempting desperately to put itself back together in the right order. 

“I don’t know if that will get better or worse,” she said honestly.  “I can’t help her with that.  How’s your vision?”

“Huh?” the girl blinked and put a hand to her forehead.  “Oh. It’s clear.  Don’t worry, that’s just a bruise.  I have a hard head, you know.”

“I’m sure you do.” Megumi handed her a wide-toothed comb and the dustpan, already full of broken glass.  “Get the rest of that glass out of your hair.”

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the original publication of this story on LJ, formats were mixed and matched for sections just for the hell of it (i.e. the snippets bit we just had and the chat log much earlier on, etc) - when it comes to turning that into chapters, though, considering the huge chapter incoming after this one, the pace leaves a lot to be desired.
> 
> So this chapter is a little weird, as it's a mix of one scene and three 'conversations of interest', as it were. Short and to the point, and we'll get somewhere with the chapter after this one.

The front door of Unit 45 had suffered great injury in the early hours of the morning. Made of cheap wood, the handle was surrounded by jagged holes before Enforcement Division had finally managed to kick it open, leaving even more damage along the frame. 

Kenshin crouched down, running his finger along the splintered edges. He said mildly, “I think your team needs to learn some manners.”

Aoshi said nothing, which was predictable; just leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets as he stared out over the street. Kenshin gave him a smile, and then stood, reaching out with a hand to push the door open. It was barely on its hinges, swinging all of two feet before the corner began to catch along the threadbare carpet. He shouldered it aside the rest of the way, then stepped around the broken chair and into the living room. He winced at the mess that had been made. Pointless to try and set it to rights. 

It wasn’t as if the runner could ever come back here, after all.

Behind him, he heard Aoshi close the door – as much as it could be closed – and he drew the hood of his jacket back. His red hair had always been distinctive and had the potential to draw the wrong attention in Lesser Tokyo; the crossed scars on his face, even more so. No doubt Shishio knew that and found it amusing. In the uptown areas, he was reasonably unknown, but it paid to be certain. He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked now. 

ED One had ransacked the apartment thoroughly; the hacker’s board and software would have been removed already. He was looking for other things. A photo, a sign of motive; anything that could possibly help them track down the runner before Soujiro’s team could. Shishio hadn’t said as much, but it was plainly obvious: their first attempt failed, Soujiro would send in a team more capable of mingling with the street life to find the runner by more subtle means.

He heard Aoshi step into the kitchen, and moved past the singed marks on the desk, glancing along the ground. There were blood spatters on the carpet, which made him wince. He could well guess why. Habit made him stoop to right the chair, toppled backward from the desk. The room was reasonably spartan, and given the threadbare nature of the carpet it meant one of two things: that either this apartment was a temporary hiding spot for a runner … 

“The fridge is almost empty,” came the observation from the kitchen. “TV meals, some very old pasta. Milk is a week out of date.”

… or the runner was dirt poor. Odd, given the amount hackers were paid to run zaibatsu. And a poor setup for such a risky venture, too. It gave credence to the idea that the attack had been purely personal.

There were three rooms leading off from the front area; two and a bit, he amended as he peered into the tiny bathroom. Clean. He stared at the chute, wedged open with a piece of wood by the searchers. Bloodstains on the edge of that, too; what looked like a smudged handprint. Good way to buy time. The runner was bright, at least.

He moved into the bedroom closest to the bathroom – at the total disaster area that ED one had made of it – and realised for the first time that Aoshi was wrong.

Drawers had been pulled out of the dresser and upended. He paid little attention to the contents strewn on the floor to begin with, his eyes immediately caught by the small wooden stand in the corner of the room. It was knocked out of place. There was a bokken on the floor next to it. Kenshin crossed the room, stepping over the haphazard piles of feminine clothing to pick the wooden sword up. Light, and clearly not just for show. There were small grooves near the end where small splinters of wood had fractured away after heavy use. 

Odd, though, that someone would use a bokken for defense in this day and age—

Kenshin blinked. And slowly turned his gaze back to the clothing on the floor, noticing for the first time the delicate cut of the shirts and the … the underwear that could not, in any way, be mistaken for a man’s.

“Aoshi.” He kept his voice neutral. “Have you checked the other room?”

The taller man appeared in the doorway. “Yes. Bedroom. It belongs to a child. A boy, I assume.”

“You told me the netrunner was a man.”

Aoshi blinked. “In fact, gender hadn’t been confirmed. It was assumed.” 

It wasn’t that a female netrunner was unheard of; they weren’t even uncommon. But … Kenshin glanced down at the bokken in his hands; noticed his fingers were going white, and forced himself to relax his grip. 

Soujiro would already know this. Which meant Shishio knew. He had been ordered to capture a woman who had barely survived the program that he had created. Too many echoes of the past, there. And Shishio knew it. Shishio…

“Himura.” 

He glanced up. Aoshi was watching him very closely. Force of habit made him smile. “I wasn’t expecting that. Anything else of interest?”

“No.”

“Your theory is probably correct. A personal assault on Kurogasa. Especially if the child is missing.” He considered that. “Any photos? Names on schoolbooks?”

“Nothing,” Aoshi said, still watching his face. “But that isn’t uncommon.”

“No,” he said absently. “It’s not.” Not in the runner’s line of work. She would protect her identity as much as possible, and those she cared for. Her son would have no name listed anywhere. Even if there had been a photograph, Soujiro would have taken anything of use.

Was it her son? The clothing on the floor didn’t seem … motherly. His eyes were caught by a flash of indigo, and he crouched down, pushing aside a shirt to find a strewn collection of ribbons. They had been neatly folded before they hit the floor, and then they had been scattered further. He suspected Soujiro might have done exactly what he was doing now, holding the length of coloured silk in his hand and trying to imagine what sort of hacker would wear such pretty ribbons in her hair.

He didn’t think she was the child’s mother. Not a girl who wore ribbons and practiced with a bokken, and wore such young clothing. Late teens, early twenties. Maybe the boy was her brother instead. 

Give him back!

Kenshin blinked, his fingers curling over the ribbon. The vivid memory of angry blue eyes. 

He’s just a kid, you bastard.

“Aoshi,” he said slowly. “I need a bag.”

Aoshi had already anticipated him. A ragged backpack landed on the floor next to him, with half-torn stickers on the sides for arcade celebrities and random street slogans that someone had made a half-hearted attempt to wash off. From the boy’s room, he supposed. Kenshin flipped it open and began to pack. He paid little attention to the clothing he was shoving into the bag; his thoughts were elsewhere, on a rainy afternoon where a tearful girl had slapped his umbrella out of his hands. 

Coincidence, he thought. But … how much of a coincidence could it be, when there were only four children who had been taken by Jinei? The Kurogasa Division, the sole target of a female hacker looking for a project that employed kids?

No time for that now. Think on it later. 

Aoshi made no comment about the bag he was packing, but then Aoshi would know what he was thinking. The runner could never come back here again; if he found her, he would have to deal with her somehow. Get her to safety. She’d probably appreciate a change of clothes. Whoever she was.

“All right,” he said quietly. “It’s a shame, but we won’t get anything else from here. Our best bet is to head into Chinatown and start quartering the area.” 

Aoshi gave a brief nod, and then turned away. Kenshin rose to his feet, slinging the backpack over one shoulder for the trip back to the car. He took the bokken with him as an afterthought; no swordsman – or woman – liked to leave their weapon behind. The indigo ribbon was still caught in his fingers. He put it carefully in his jacket pocket on the way down the stairs.

The runner would have sought medical aid; if she was on foot, doubtful she had moved on past Chinatown. Their greatest advantage was that Soujiro was reasonably new to Sumitomo and hadn’t been into Lesser Tokyo much at all. He hadn’t been involved in the riots. He wouldn’t know the locations of many of the more hidden clinics. 

Kenshin and Aoshi between them knew almost every one. 

~

“Where is she now?”

“Not sure, sir. Makimachi dragged her into Chinatown under cover of a street brawl. We lost her. She’s fast for a reporter.”

“She’s not just a reporter.”

“What?”

“Use your eyes, idiot. Reporters don’t carry kunai around in the bottom of their car.”

“U-um, yes. Sorry—“

“So you’ve lost her. I suppose I’m not surprised. Fallout from the brawl?”

“Well, everybody’s on edge, sir. The gangs down there don’t know why Sumitomo came crashing into their territory, but even if they knew they’d probably side with Kamiya. They hate Sumitomo.”

“They hate all of us. It doesn’t mean we’re not entitled to do our job.”

“Sorry. You’re right of course. But the brawl got out of hand, and the media got their hands on it … the mood on the street has turned ugly. The street samurai are on edge. They know there was a line crossed this morning. They’re waiting for retaliation.”

“Hn. So anything could touch off another fight. Care will be needed. I can’t have the girl being caught in the crossfire.”

“Do you want us to send a team in to extract her, sir?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll go myself.”

~

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew his name sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure until I saw the room. After that … I was tired.”

“You were tired.”

“I have my reasons.”

“I believe you, Aoshi. I was just a little surprised, that’s all. It’s not like you.”

“… I met the boy.”

“Yahiko, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“How? …wait. Shishio transferred you to Jinei’s department?”

“To protect Jinei from you.”

“I see. You’re doing wonderfully. What happened?”

“I hit him.”

“You hit Jinei?”

“I was tempted to. But I meant Myoujin Yahiko. I hurt him badly.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t sound shocked.”

“Normally, I would be. Aoshi, if you hit Yahiko you would have had very good reason.”

“…I thought it was.”

“You concussed him?”

“At least.”

“But he’ll live?”

“With medical attention, for now. Longer than … if Jinei had continued his tests.”

“...the others are dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Damn him. He’s working too fast. How long did you buy the boy?”

“A few days. A week at the outside, but I doubt it. Jinei will give him the best of care.”

“That should be enough. But first things first. We’re almost there. Aoshi, you did the right thing.”

“I know that.”

“Ah. Well. Perhaps you should tell yourself you know that.”

“Hold on. Something coming in on the radio—“

“Now? Has she been found?”

“…No. Doesn’t seem so. Give me a moment.”

“I’ll find a place to park.”

“…It’s Soujiro. Scattering the street team around an area downtown. They’re not to interfere.”

“With what?”

“He’s found someone. Not Kamiya; they’re not moving in. ‘Suspect located’.”

“Tell me where.”

~

“Your plan has worked, I think.”

“Hah, yes. He’s on the move. Never could resist a woman in distress, even if he does end up killing the ones that matter.”

“This one doesn’t?”

“…Not so much. A means to an end. Still, we got her into Chinatown alive. She should thank me. And now, he’ll have to stick his head in the noose to get to her. So much fun.”

“Fun?”

“You think Red isn’t hated by every man who dares to call himself samurai? He’s too distinctive, he killed too many. Hell, they cheered when I marked him. Watching him dance around them will be a joy to behold.”

“They might kill him.”

“They won’t. He’s too good. There’s only one person who will ever destroy him, and that’s me.”

“Of course. Orders?”

“Pull back. Let it play out. I’ve no desire to get involved just yet. That would bring an ending much too soon. Let’s concentrate on finalizing the Mitsui deal.”

“As you wish.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What does that stand for anyway, Sexy Sano?"

On account of it possibly being his last night alive, Sano had decided it was only wise to get ludicrously drunk. It was possible he’d died when he hadn’t been paying attention, if the dull thudding behind his eyes and the rotten taste at the back of his throat were anything to go by. He vaguely remembered being slapped by a really pretty woman at the crack of dawn this morning, and wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Dozed outside the noodle stand for a good hour and a half. It had finally occurred to him – blearily – that if he was meeting Kaoru in a good nine hours or so, he should stagger to the shop and sleep off his hangover in the bed out back. 

By the time he made it back through the streets to the antique store, he was aware of two things: one, that something had obviously _happened._ The atmosphere on the streets seemed charged with nervous tension. This area was always busy no matter what time of the day it was – as far as he was concerned, the regulars probably lurked in _shifts._ But there were more people today. Distinctly more of the armed-and-dangerous kind, and for once they seemed less inclined to stand around and look _cool_ than they did looking warily along the streets as if they expected a fight to break out any moment.

Fights _did_ break out on a regular basis in downtown. Usually in small doses. Sano frowned, a little fuzzily. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something was definitely off.

  
The second thing he noticed was a new face.

There was a boy, sitting cross-legged on one of the benches on the street, hugging a dark coat to himself. Fair enough; it was prone to be colder at night. Only now it was after nine, and the summer heat was already becoming uncomfortable. It was odd enough that Sano slowed a little on his way, staring at the kid dubiously. Kids didn’t sit around clutching coats like that unless they were trying to hide something. Then the boy looked up, catching his gaze with wide, slightly vacant blue eyes, and Sano blinked. The kid’s hair was a glossy, dark brown, framing a pale face that seemed all angelic innocence.

_Riiiight._

He gave the kid a crooked grin and a small salute, and continued on. He was watched the rest of the way, he knew that much. It didn’t bother him. They were like kittens, these kids; you smiled and waved, and they expected a handout. So Sano ignored the feeling, fishing keys out of his pockets and unlocking the door to the antique store, letting himself into the welcome gloom with a sigh of relief. He locked the door again before tossing the keys across the room to the counter, flinching as they scraped across the glass. Bad move.

“Stupid Jou-chan,” he muttered, voice surly as he maneuvered his way around the piles of unidentified junk (or antiques, which were junk anyway if you looked at it the right way). His headache had spiked on the walk back, and it was probably going to get worse. Victim of a hundred drunken binges, Sano found his way to the fridge in the official staff room, opening it in search of a water bottle that he could drink to at least _pretend_ he would feel better when he woke up.

The sound of the front door opening took him entirely by surprise.

Sano hesitated in the dark office and then closed the fridge, stepping back to the doorway to glance out at his intruder. The daylight streaming in through the open door made the figure hard to see, but he recognised the coat. He narrowed his eyes.

“Way I remember it, I locked that door,” he said mildly.

“You did,” the boy replied, words amiable. “I picked the lock.”

“Uh _huh._ ” Sano eyed him as the door swung shut, leaving the boy standing in the dim light. He was no longer clutching the coat; instead, he was shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it onto a pile of old books. “Look, kid. Don’t make yourself at home. I’m not interested.”

“First things first, Sagara-san,” the boy said politely, rolling up blue shirt-sleeves. “I am not what you think I am.”

Sano froze. Knowing his name was bad. Stalking him was even worse. “You got me confused with someone else, kid—“

“Second, I am neither stupid nor as young as I appear, Sagara-san.” The boy was practically _radiating_ good cheer. “You needn’t worry. I’m just here on business.”

“In that case, you can come back later. I’m closed today. Or if you’re really desperate, I suppose I have a nice chair you could buy or something—“

The boy _looked_ at him. Smiled, sharp and a little feral; at odds with the vacuous stare. Sano shut up. He might be a bit slow sometimes, but he was sharp enough to know when pushing a lie wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

It occurred to him he might be in trouble. Which was really unfair, as he wasn’t that clear-headed. One thing was for sure; the kid was definitely trying to be intimidating, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. He scrunched his hands into his pockets and sauntered for the desk, determinedly casual.

“All right,” he said finally, sitting in his plush chair, the knives behind him. “What do you want?”

The smile became wider and more cheerful as the boy tilted his head to one side, favouring him with a friendly look. “I understand we have something in common, Sagara-san.”

“We really don’t. And stop calling me that. You sound like a debt collector.” Sano peered at him. “Course, I suppose you could be.”

“I could be,” the boy said agreeably. “But I’m not. Not today. I’m sorry, but I’ve always found it better to be polite about these things. I suppose I could call you _Sexy Sano_ if you wish, but it’s not my style. And given your first impression, that wouldn’t help matters, would it?" 

Sano opened his mouth to retort. Closed it. Took a moment in his fuzzy state to try and work out why those words sounded less like some freakish attempt at flirting and more like a threat.   He’d used those words before. Recently.

_What does that stand for…?_

The boy padded forward silently, hand reaching into his shirt pocket. Sano watched, uncomprehending, until he drew forth a length of blue ribbon and laid it gently onto the glass display counter.

The shop shifted into clarity. Perfect recall. Between one moment and the next, the sweat trickling down his back turned to ice.

“Seta Soujiro,” the boy introduced himself. The smile never left his face. “You see, our initials are the same. But that’s not all we have in common, is it Sagara-san?”

It was amazing how sober he suddenly felt. Sano stared at the boy as if for the first time. The blue shirt was high quality silk, rumpled and creased badly at the front. The dark pants he wore were neither jeans nor office attire, but black cargoes. Black polished boots. Half-dressed like a soldier.

He swallowed, and offered the kid a weak grin. “You’re a long way from home. Enforcement Division?”

“I had to take the vest off to avoid any extra attention,” Soujiro agreed ruefully, running a hand through his hair. “But you see, I just had to see you, and I didn’t know if I’d have time to change.”

“I liked my first impression of you better.”

“That’s disappointing. Your second impression is less offensive.” He didn’t look offended, however. He was still _smiling_. Sano wondered if he’d ever stop. “I take it you recognise the ribbon, Sagara-san?”

“If I said I didn’t know what you were talking about, would you believe me?” He managed to keep his nonchalance, which he was thankful for. Maybe the bastard wouldn’t notice the fresh sweat trickling down his face. 

Soujiro laughed delicately. “Of course not.”

_Kaoru._ She’d done something very, very stupid. It wasn’t hard to guess what. She hadn’t waited. And there was no point – no point at _all –_ in pretending he didn’t know about it, because they obviously already had the files from her computer. The ice was spreading through him now as something occurred to him: she could be dead. Her brain could have fried, and they’d gone through her stuff, and they were taking him as an accomplice.

_Oh, fuck. Jou-chan, why didn’t you_ wait?

And this bastard was having fun cheerfully rubbing it in. Inside his pockets, Sano’s hands clenched into fists.

“She’s just a customer,” he said, trying for indifference.

“I know that, Sagara-san,” Soujiro’s eyes shifted to the knives on the wall, then back. “We managed to retrieve the detonator for designer software that she used. _Cookie Crumbs_ , wasn’t it? The man who created that is still wanted by the law, isn’t that right? Tsukioka Tsunan.”

“If you say so.” He hadn’t missed the look. Knew the kid wasn’t going to leave Sano alive at the end of this conversation. Could tell by the look in Soujiro’s eyes – they’d shifted, from vacuous innocence to a focused intensity that still looked amused.

“And Tsukioka-san only has three distributors in Lesser Tokyo. Ah! But you’ll find this amusing, Sagara-san. It was only this last week that my corporation had cause to investigate you, and became aware of your role in Tsukioka’s affairs. When I found the emails you sent to Kamiya-san, I knew where to find you. I notice you’re awfully familiar with a girl who is just your customer.”

“What,” Sano said, teeth bared, “Do you _want_?”

“There’s no need to be defensive,” Soujiro replied sweetly. “I’m here to ask you for information. That’s all. I’m sure you’ve worked out by now that Kamiya-san attempted to steal corporate secrets from us a little earlier than she arranged to with you.”

He should have known. Really should have. She’d offered to buy him _dinner._ Should have been a giveaway.

“You’ll be happy to know she survived, Sagara-san. She even escaped the first security net. She’s very lucky.”

Yes, he _was_ happy. Seriously fucking relieved, as a matter of fact. But now he knew where this was going. Sano narrowed his eyes, looking the boy over. He wasn’t carrying a weapon. If Soujiro had brought one in, it would be hidden under the discarded coat. He would have to go back to the entrance to get it. Maybe that would give him enough time.  

Even if Soujiro had a gun, there was no way the kid was fast enough to get it and fire at him before Sano had dived through the door just behind him.

“You want to know where she went,” he said.

“You’re very astute!” Soujiro nodded in approval. “She’s badly hurt, Sagara-san.”

He couldn’t help it. He flinched.

“There was a great deal of blood on the floor. She’ll have needed urgent medical assistance, Sagara-san. Tell me.” Soujiro picked up the ribbon, rubbing it between his fingers with a thoughtful look. “Where would she go?”

“How the hell do you expect _me_ to know, you creepy-ass piece of shit?” he snarled. The brat was _still_ smiling, and it was becoming seriously unnerving. “This is news to me, remember?”

“News, yes,” Soujiro replied calmly. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t give an educated guess. My team lost her at the edge of Chinatown, Sagara-san. She’s certain to be somewhere in that area. Does she know a doctor there? Who would she turn to? I know that you can tell me this. She’s not just a regular customer, is she, Sagara-san?”

Repeating his name every other sentence was _also_ beginning to get on his nerves. That, Sano could understand at least; standard interrogation tactic. And this _was_ an interrogation, no matter how casual it seemed. Which brought another point to mind: Soujiro couldn’t possibly be alone. His stomach dropped another notch. That meant that even if he left here, there’d be a team waiting for him to run. He was toast, no matter what happened.

If he _ever_ managed to find Kaoru again, he was going to murder her. Screw letting the suits get to her first. _Sano_ wanted that privilege.

“I have no idea where she is.”

“Ah, Sagara-san.” Soujiro shook his head with a small sigh. “That’s not nice. It’s not nice to lie.”

“It’s not nice to break into people’s property either.”

“I’m asking you politely, just once more.” Soujiro straightened, voice cold. “ _Where would she go_?”

Sano grinned at him fiercely, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “The library, maybe?” And then he slammed his fist down into the cabinet in front of him.

The glass surface exploded.

He caught sight of Soujiro’s surprised blue eyes, before the shattering glass obscured his view. Sano gritted his teeth at the sudden pain of his hand as splinters cut into his knuckles. At least he’d angled the attack well enough that Soujiro should have borne the brunt of it. _Take that._    He took a step backward, pulling his fist up to inspect the damage. Two knuckles were bleeding, torn by the impact of his strike.

Well, whatever. If he was really lucky, the creepy kid would have taken enough damage to bleed to death. Sano pulled the largest splinter of glass out of his hand with a wince and turned, hand reaching for the fake kukri knife to jerk it down. So the place was probably surrounded. Didn’t mean he couldn’t _try_ running for it. Right?

“ _Nice_!”

It was all the warning he got. Agony ripped through his right hand, spasming through his fingers. He nearly fell; the white-hot tug through his palm brought him up short. His yell nearly skirled up into a scream, which he refused to do; wouldn’t give Soujiro the satisfaction.

Instead, Sano caught himself with his left hand, teeth clenched shut, and stared at the hilt of the knife that Soujiro had thrown, pinning his right hand ruthlessly to the door.

“That’s a very dangerous technique you have there, Sagara-san,” came the cheerful voice behind him. “I’m sure you’ll understand if I take steps to counter it?”

Sano craned his neck to look over his shoulder. Soujiro was perfectly untouched. Impossible. He was holding a sword. _Impossible._ Sano stared past him to where the jacket had been … moved.

“No way in hell you’re that fast,” he croaked. He wondered if he had the guts to pull the knife out.

He wondered if he any real choice about that.

“That’s the _futae no kiwami,_ isn’t it?” Soujiro said suddenly, ignoring his question. “I didn’t think Anji took on any students.”

Sano stared. He hadn’t heard from the huge monk in years. “How the fuck d’you know Anji?”

“Not important, right now,” he replied, stepping delicately around the glass. “You need to get your priorities straight, Sagara-san.”

_Damn right I do._ Sano’s left hand found his right. Closed fingers around the hilt. Even that faint jerk on the knife was enough for cramping pain to spike up to his elbow. He let his head drop, tears of pain in his eyes, trying to steady himself. Soujiro was taking his time. He needed to buy more.

“You’re wired, aren’t you?” he asked unevenly.

Soujiro laughed in that same, delicate fashion. Which was pretty insulting, really. The boy stopped a few feet away, watching him patiently. “Answer my question, Sagara-san.”

“Go to hell,” he snarled, and wrenched the knife out of the wall.

He did it too fast and too rough, and this time the pain _did_ make him scream, despite all efforts. Sano’s knees buckled. He was fine with that. He landed in a jarring heap on the ground, world threatening to blur out on him, leaning against the broken remnants of the cabinet. Amazing how, when his eyes came back into focus, the image he saw was of a blue ribbon lying amidst shattered glass, miniature ships and marbles. There _had_ to be better things to look at just before death.

Course, he might still get lucky. His right hand was a bleeding mess, cradled gingerly in his lap, getting his pants badly stained. His left had found the small shelf under the glass display, closing around cool metal just as he heard the faint sound of Soujiro’s sword being unsheathed.

“Do you know,” he said, staring up into Soujiro’s smiling face, “That programs aren’t the only thing that your _Tsukioka-san_ makes?”

Soujiro blinked. Then his eyes widened as Sano pulled the small, cylindrical canister out from the cabinet, thumb flicking the detonation switch, smiling crookedly.

“They’re just for defense, he says.”

He flung it as hard as he could, bouncing off the floor between Soujiro’s feet and skittering off to collect near what was – probably – a nice, expensive vase. Not that it really mattered anymore. Soujiro was already sprinting for the front.   Sano closed his eyes after that; didn’t want to see what happened, even as he slammed one shoulder into the half-open door behind the desk.

_At least_ , he thought with a faint sense of hysterical accomplishment, _I get to take the little bastard with me._

He felt the shockwave before he heard the crack of the explosion, slamming into his back with enough force to propel him the rest of the way through. The last impression he had was of a dull roaring sound and the sear of heat in his lungs.

After that, mercifully, Sano felt nothing at all.

\---------

Market district was difficult to drive through at the best of times. Market district on a Friday morning just after nine was impossible; the streets were packed with turf squatters, business dealers and regular everyday shoppers. Rumours circulated through the crowd of a fight at sunrise down at the end of Chinatown. Nobody knew why the fight had started. Nobody _cared_ about the reason. After all, there were guttergangs involved, right?

Kenshin let the conversation wash over him as he trailed in Aoshi’s wake, hood pulled over his head. The crowd was both excited at the prospect of action and worried about the fallout. Two _zaibatsu_ enforcers had died this morning, and the corporations had a reputation for ruthless overkill when it came to retaliation. Not entirely unwarranted, he knew; but no _zaibatsu_ would visit its wrath on the entirety of Lesser Tokyo for the sake of a few gang members. It would be pointless.

He followed Aoshi as the taller man forged them a path through the crowd, making for the antique store at the end of the street. They could see nothing out of the ordinary ahead, which meant nothing. Given the mood of the crowd, ED One would be far removed from the streets. He risked a glance to the rooftops. No sign of anyone.

Which, again, meant nothing. Soujiro had asked them to scatter, after all. He smiled, despite himself. _Great. So I can’t see anything out of the ordinary, and naturally that means the street is crawling with enforcers. I’ve been working for the zaibatsu far too long._

He was still looking up at the rooftop billboards when the antique store exploded. Kenshin saw the flash as it lit up the street; snapped his stunned gaze back to the store just as the windows shattered outward. Then sound washed over them, deafening and accompanied by force powerful enough to knock them off their feet.

Then there was the roar of flames. People were screaming.

A hand gripped his arm and yanked him to his feet. Kenshin staggered upright, ears ringing, and allowed Aoshi to drag him off the road. People were panicking and they would run; the sooner they were off the street the better. And …

And…

He turned back to the store. The blast had been powerful enough that the brickwork had been slammed outward and was now crumbling in areas onto the pavement. Unidentifiable debris, burning on the road. He could feel the heat from here. The building would not survive the blaze.

Whoever had been inside at the time was certainly dead. There was no way to survive that sheet of flame. Those that were unlucky enough to have been passing the building at the time were badly hurt. Kenshin started forward and was brought up short by Aoshi’s hand, still wrapped around his arm.

“Leave them.”

Kenshin blinked and glanced up. Aoshi was pale, and there was a small cut on his jaw. His eyes were focused intently up the street, past the store. Kenshin swallowed his protest and followed Aoshi’s gaze.

Soujiro stood in the shadows cast by the smoke billowing from the building, sword in one hand and coat dangling from the other, his face a mask of concentration as he stared into the flames. Kenshin drew further back against the wall, watching silently.

In the distance, they could hear sirens.

Eventually Soujiro gave a small shrug and turned on his heel, shrugging the coat on as he walked away. Kenshin narrowed his eyes.

“He’s smiling.”

“He always does,” Aoshi said flatly. “And he’ll stay in the area for some time. We should leave while he is occupied.”

Kenshin nodded. Corporate policy; Soujiro would stay at least long enough to give an explanation and possible promise of restitution to the authorities. And sickly, he realised there was nothing he could do here. The target was dead. The injured would be treated soon enough; if he tried, they would give away their presence to Soujiro.  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
They slipped quietly away in the opposite direction.  

\---------

The alley carried the acrid tang of smoke, wreathed around the buildings that lined it. As a dumping ground for the surrounding shops, there was barely any walking room. Dumpsters overflowed with garbage bags and loose refuse. It made for great makeshift bedding for the homeless, provided they were willing to put up with the stench and the chance of something sharp grinding into their back at the wrong time. Disposal trucks had difficulty reaching this section of town; rubbish removal days were few and far between. Thus the stockpile of bags grew until it began resembling small and faintly disturbing foothills.

The alleyway was currently deserted. There was a fire to watch just around the corner, after all.

After a while, one of the smaller bags dislodged itself and slid clumsily down the pile.

  
“Katsu, you bastard—“

A hand thrust itself through the gap, looking for purchase. It was accompanied by swearing.

“—what part of that was for _defense_?”

Sano rested his weight against the garbage for a moment, and then clenched his teeth, doing his best to pull his way out of the pile one-handed. The problem about secret passages was that they were _secret._ He couldn’t very well put up a sign saying, _Please do not pile your rubbish here, the corporations might come to get me._   

He hurt. A lot. His back and shoulders stung; he knew already that they would at least be badly blistered. It didn’t _feel_ worse than that. He hoped fervently it had managed to escape serious damage.

His hand was another matter.

What was left of his jacket, he’d already wadded tightly around his right hand in the darkness of his basement. The cloth was stained through. He’d lost a fair amount of blood before he’d recovered his wits, but he hadn’t bled to death.   So he’d lost a few minutes, maybe. But he still needed help for it badly. Medicine was different to the way it was twenty years ago; the damage done could be dealt with easily enough, but only if he got it treated in _time_.

_Megumi can do it._ He grinned tiredly, then lost his balance and slid the rest of the way down the pile, fetching to a stop between bags that were comfortable enough he was tempted to close his eyes and just sleep. Which would be a bad idea. Sano staggered to his feet, promptly fell over a roll of musty carpet and fetched up in a heap again. The world spun.

_Get up_. _It’s not that bad. You fell down the stairs. Missed the worst of it._

_Kaoru needs you._

“Jou-chan,” he slurred, “You are so dead. When I find you.”

But he already knew where she would be, if she had any sense. The possibility of Kaoru having sense seemed rather doubtful at the moment, given his store was now burning down, but she’d surely go to someone she trusted if she was as hurt as the creepy kid had said.

After a moment, he staggered up again and began picking his way out of the alley, right hand cradled closely to his chest.

\----------

Perched on the roof of the nearby vid store, Soujiro breathed a faint sigh as he watched the figure stagger onto the road.

“Finally!” He turned to the squad leader standing at attention behind him with a rueful laugh. “I was beginning to think I’d overdone it.”

“Sir?” the man said nervously.

“He’ll go straight to where Kamiya-san is now, I think. Follow him.”

“Yes, sir. Anything more?”

“Not now.” Soujiro turned back to the street, smiling blissfully. “Call it in. We’ll approach with discretion for the moment.”

After all, it was possible that he’d hurt Sagara Sanosuke enough that the man would stop elsewhere first for medical treatment, but Soujiro didn’t think so. Stubborn and pig-headed; and if he was anything like Anji, Sano would go straight to Kamiya Kaoru – who _would_ be at a clinic they both trusted, he was sure – and get treated there.

It wasn’t a smart move, and he gave Sano credit enough to know that. But then, the man weaving unevenly down the street wouldn’t be thinking straight. And after all, he would assume that Soujiro thought he was dead.

It was interesting how people underestimated him because of his looks. Nobody ever stopped to think that if a boy could pick locks, he could certainly have spent more than enough time inside to find a fake wall and some designer grenades. Tsukioka had _started_ on bombs, after all. It was on file. Soujiro had read it extensively.

Soujiro smiled. He was glad he’d read Sano correctly. Following a man to his secrets was far more efficient than trying to pry them out of him with a sword.

He’d thought, for a moment there at the end, that he’d have to find some convincing way of falling over and knocking himself out on the cabinet.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are tentacles.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?”

“No.”

Kenshin settled into the metal-backed chair and relaxed against the headrest, pausing long enough to smile at the coffee girl and place his order. Inside the delicately ordered café, he felt at ease enough to shake the hood from his hair. The windows were tinted glass, not to mention bulletproof, and even if someone from their earlier days should try to come inside, the bouncer at the door would be both armed and armoured enough to stop him.   The owners took their safe and sterile environment quite seriously.

Net cafes had come a long way in twenty years.

“It’s probably not that wise,” he continued once the girl had returned to the counter. “But I can’t help thinking that trying to search the clinics one by one is going to slow us down too much. What do you know about Soujiro?”

“Little,” Aoshi replied. “He worked in the IA department under Shishio. He was employed last year, and he transferred to DA when Shishio did. They work closely together.”

“Which makes me wonder what he stands to gain by replacing you with Soujiro.”

Aoshi shrugged. “Soujiro is rumoured to have impossibly fast reflexes and an addiction to valium.”

The coffee girl was returning. Kenshin took the tray from her thankfully and settled it on the table. The tea he pushed to Aoshi, and took the glass of water for himself. He ignored the sachet left on the tray for now. “Do you believe that?”

“Valium addicts don’t _have_ impossibly fast reflexes.”

“Wired?”

“It’s probable.”

Kenshin drank the water and reached for the sachet, tearing it open along one side.   “He’s not prone to fits of temper, in any case. If Soujiro detonated the building it probably means he found what he came for. I have to assume he either knows where our runner is or knows how to get to her.”

Either way, Soujiro was too dangerous to underestimate. Enforcement teams were meant to extract a suspect with surgical precision. If Soujiro was the sort of enforcer who liked destroying everything in his wake, Kenshin would rather find Kamiya Kaoru as soon as possible. He wasn’t sure what to do _once_ he found her – if he were totally honest with himself, he would admit he had no idea. He would work that out one step at a time.

_Running on automatic._ The contents of the sachet dropped onto the counter. He picked up the small swab cloth by the corner and shook it open, other hand feeling along the edge of the table until he found the ports. “It should be all right,” he continued.

“You may still be monitored.”

Kenshin smiled innocently. “If Shishio’s informants wish to report that I am diligently attempting to find the hacker that he ordered me to pursue, that’s entirely up to them.”

Conversations could be privatized and precautions could be taken; now that he knew he was being stalked, it was a matter of course. Shishio had erred in pointing that out to him. He drew the wire from its berth in the table, wiping the port carefully with the disinfected swab, before placing his hand palm-up on the table and peeling the tiny strip of plastiskin away from his upper forearm.

Like every good corporate employee, Kenshin had an ID chip in his interface. Unlike most others he’d found ways to alter it as he saw fit several years ago. There was, after all, a reason he was called one of the best programmers in Japan. In a way, what he did was just legalized netrunning.

The ports were connected without fanfare.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and dropped away from the world.

\--------

The line between netrunner and programmer was often smudged, but it was there. Kenshin could open himself a straight passage between the outer shell of Sumitomo and its inner core and create any number of programs like magic tricks.   Protection of the system was a programmer’s specialty. It was their _job_ to understand the ins and outs of the netrunner trade, whereas the specialty of the netrunner was the theft and sale of information. Of any kind. There were hackers that specialized in collecting things as trivial as electronic purchase receipts because someone, somewhere, would eventually find it useful.

  
_Information is always power_ , he thought as the darkness dropped away suddenly, revealing faint lights dotted around a plain, obsidian room. The café’s hub, plain and serviceable. He didn’t need to leave it just yet. Instead, with a bare thought he accessed his messaging system and sent a priority flagged message, embedded in code for the access of one person only.

_This isn’t wise. In many ways._ He’d logged in as his default _Rurouni_ avatar; white hakama and a red gi that had been carefully shaded to look careworn. In many ways he looked the same as he did in the outside world; he only lacked the crossed scar on his cheek. Only one of the swords at his waist could be drawn, but that was all he needed. He resisted the urge to unsheathe it now.

No point advertising that he was nervous.

A small screen flickered to life, showing hissing static that reflected eerily across the dark room. A voice, flat and mechanical, said “ _Charlotte_?”

“Sometimes,” he said softly.

“ _Follow the path_.”

He stepped out of the obsidian room into the vast reaches of the Net, watching the flicker of light as it danced between connections and left a glimmer of a trail for him to follow. He paid no attention to it after a moment; he knew too well how she would react. Kenshin put one foot down on the path selected and flinched as it broke apart underneath him. Claws, shining and metallic, closed around one tabi-clad foot and yanked him down. The world twisted in on him as he fell, a kaleidoscopic vision of streaking lights and empty darkness.

He closed his eyes and waited out the ride.

\---------

The silver laughter of a woman, skewed and not quite human, announced that he had arrived. It was accompanied with the slithering sound of metal scraping against stone. Kenshin glanced up. To all appearances, the cavern he was in was large and made of limestone, its natural beauty spoiled by the chrome tendrils that crept along the walls and constantly slid over one another, creating the eerie sensation that the room was alive. It was an effect like any other; the Net catered to all tastes, after all. And here and now, he knew, it was meant to leave him with an impression.

“You could have waited until I took the path,” he said, straightening up and peering at his feet. The claw had dissolved into the rock beneath him.

“I’m impatient,” the silver voice said. “Diverting you is _much_ faster, Rurouni-chan.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

There was a soft sound of clicking metal and he turned, catching sight of her in the gloom as she circled him, her crimson eyes on his face. Kenshin kept his hands by his sides, curling fingers over the sleeves of his red gi as he let her inspect him. A quick electronic scan of the room showed him there were no exit ports, which made his stomach sink further. He’d have to leave this area in order to disconnect; that could prove to be difficult if she decided she didn’t _like_ him anymore.

Out of the darkness, a tiny spider scuttled past his ankle, the pattern on its back aglow with light. He stepped carefully out of the way of the others that followed, and turned back to meet her gaze as she finally left the shadows. Her long, silken hair was ebony black, spilling over curved, delicate shoulders and across bare breasts to give her the pretence of modesty. She played with it as he watched, running sharp, painted fingernails through the strands as she watched him. Red lips curved into a malicious smile.

She was very beautiful, provided one didn’t look below those playful hands. At her waist, smooth flesh gave way to chrome. Metal coiled over her hips with a will of its own, loose ends twisting in the room aimlessly, and beneath the metal her body was not human at all; eight spindly legs, made of metal, razor sharp at the tips.

She also loomed over him at a good nine feet. Kenshin took a step back despite himself as she moved fluidly closer. “It’s been so long,” she purred, reaching out a hand to touch his hair. “But I imagine now that you aren’t here for a social visit, hmm?”

He resisted the urge to jerk his head away. “Charlotte. I need—“

“Information. It’s what I do best.” She grinned, showing needle-sharp teeth. “Not what _you_ do best as I understand it, but I suppose we all have our own areas of …expertise. I trust your in-laws are well?”

Kenshin refused to take the bait. Charlotte was disturbing enough as it was; telling himself that she was just another custom-designed avatar was barely helpful. She was one of the most creative hackers known in Japan; everything here would bend to the way _she_ willed it. Including Kenshin.

But she was also an information broker. Business always spoke more loudly than personal history. Didn’t it?

He swallowed. “There’s a young woman who broke into Sumitomo. She escaped into the Chinatown area this morning.”

“Ah.” Charlotte tapped a finger to her perfect chin. “Sumitomo enforcers are slipping in their old age.”

“I need to know where she went.”

She laughed. “And you expect me to know? I’m flattered.”

“Just tell me what you can,” he said evenly.

“Hmm.” He tensed as he felt the curve of metal across his back, tugging him closer to her. A cold hand cupped his cheek. “It’ll cost you, darling.”

“I’ll pay.”

“You don’t even know my price.”

“It will be fair,” he retorted. “You may be …what you are, but you’ve always been scrupulous when it comes to business.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, leaning down to speak to him face to face. “And what if this is personal?”

A second chrome tendril joined the first, latching on to his waist. Kenshin dropped his hand down to his sword, stony-faced.

“You killed quite a few people, little dragon of Tokyo,” Charlotte continued dreamily. “I lost many clients.” She ran a hand through his hair and kissed him on the forehead, ignoring his flinch. “Perhaps I should seek justice for them now, hmm?”

“Perhaps you should tell me whether or not you’re going to do business with me,” he said between his teeth.

He wasn’t prepared for it when she laughed and pulled away from him. A moment later, her hold on him dropped away and he stumbled backward.

“Don’t be angry, little dragon. I merely thought you might need reminding of the past.” She smiled, twirling her hair around her fingers with an air of wistfulness. “So often, we forget what is important to us.”

“I forget nothing,” he returned flatly.

“Of course. Silly me.”

When she threw a hand up, he breathed a faint sigh of relief. Business, after all. The room filled with flickering light and a faint tinkling that reminded him of wind chimes. At first glance what now hung through the room, delicately one after the other on long strings of thread, were fragments of glass catching the light. They both knew better. Charlotte was if nothing else a consummate performer. She reached out with one long-fingered hand to flick one shard, sending an entire succession of them spinning madly on the same thread. And smiled.

“What can you tell me of this lovely young woman?” she asked. “A name, an address? The area your people foolishly lost her to?”

He hesitated briefly before answering. “Kamiya Kaoru.”

Charlotte gave him a look of surprise. “Oh, my. The ‘Rose of Kenjutsu’ herself?”

Kenshin blinked. _Rose of--_ “You know her?”

“We’ve had dealings,” she murmured. “Like many of her kind, they come to me eventually. What falls between the cracks is more important than you would think, is that not so?”

“Runners don’t go by their real name,” Kenshin said coldly. He would bet money that Charlotte hadn’t been surprised at all. “How do you know her?”

She laughed at him. “Perhaps that is my business and mine alone, darling. Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Hmm. You should be,” she said thoughtfully. “So many fine men, seeking the lovely rose. The catalyst.”

_No._ Kenshin’s hands clenched by his sides as her words sank in. Soujiro? _He can’t have._

“Come now, this is a good thing, isn’t it?” She became cajoling, face alight with amusement at his consternation. “Aren’t you happy that the search has already been done for you?”

He spoke carefully, stripping the emotion away from his words. “Charlotte. Who has been here before me?”

“You know better than that, darling.” Charlotte waved a finger at him. “But as it happens, it’s someone I like better than you. He’s much more of an honest man.” She grinned. “In a sense.”

“ _Tell me.”_

“I’ll give you two for the price of one, and only because it amuses me. I did, after all, say that you should remember the past.” Her smile turned cruel. “ _Step into my parlour_ , said the spider to the fly.”

Her hand wrapped around a thread and yanked hard, snapping the crystal fragments it held away from the ceiling.

**Warning: tactile override—**

Kenshin’s visual feed dissolved into static.

_\-- “Kaoru, stay with me—“ Desperate words, blurred image of an arm and a woman, barely seen --_

_\-- “-- pulling out! Fighting below between us and the target, armed and dangerous residents, need backup—“ Skewed view, gunfire, wild spin of colour that separates itself into a fight on the ground, one girl dragging another into an alleyway –_

_\-- “Oh god, sorry! Wrong place!” A vid store; the voice is familiar, an argument is started; is the sick girl contagious? Directions given. “No sorry, go a bit further down this street and look for the herbalist sign. Doc you want is under the building.” --_

Other blurred images reeled past him; Charlotte’s collection of snippets taken from across Chinatown. She was the biggest collector of media trivia in Japan, and she paid hundreds of people to collect it for her. _Anything_ was worth a price in Lesser Tokyo. If Kamiya Kaoru had walked past so much as an over-eager man with a phone camera, chances were high Charlotte had retrieved the footage. Most of it was a blurred image, a glimpse of hair, a pink ribbon, a called name. Kaoru wasn’t alone; there was another girl helping her. Kenshin couldn’t get a good look, but her voice _did_ seem awfully familiar.

He heard the sibilant hiss of Charlotte’s voice. “ _Seen enough?”_

He had. Enough to know the area the two women had run to. Enough to know _where_ they had gone. A clinic located underneath an herbalist in Chinatown not too far from a vid store; it couldn’t get much clearer than that.

_Megumi-dono._

He blinked as the cavern came back into view and staggered as the world spun. Cool metal had snagged him by the shoulder, keeping him upright. Charlotte’s face hovered close by, her smile too sly by far. “I trust that’s all you need to know. I will take my usual fee. Provided of course that your cred details haven’t changed?”

“They haven’t,” he said unsteadily, finding his balance. “You mentioned two.”

“Oh, yes. I have a message for you.”

He startled. “What?”

“Hm? Oh.” She chuckled. “Silly me. I already gave it to you.”

“Charlotte…”

“In any case, my darling, you should hurry,” she said airily, ignoring his dark look. “I imagine the rose’s presence is going to remain undetected for another thirty minutes at the most. Your friend the insane enforcer is already tracking his lead. Literally.”

“Soujiro.” Which meant Soujiro hadn’t been the one to visit Charlotte. _Who had?_

_“_ Oh, yes. It’s so much fun watching these things happen! If I were you, I’d hope that this man—“ She tapped a fragment carefully, to show him a frozen image of an injured man holding a bleeding hand and staggering across a gutter. “—runs into an accident on his way there.”

Kenshin narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this?”

She laughed, silver and alien in the gloom. “You don’t think there would be an explosion downtown and I _wouldn’t_ be watching, do you?”

He conceded the point. “Thank you. I have to go.”

He turned to look for the exit, and was brought up short by the coil winding tighter around his shoulder. Another one seized his sword-arm, pulling it away from his waist.

“Must you?” Charlotte crooned, drawing closer. “I haven’t seen you in _so_ long. With or without your pretty scars, you’re my kind of person, Rurouni-chan.”

Her nail caught at his face, slicing down the left cheek and leaving a burning sensation in its wake. Kenshin clenched his teeth for a moment, and forced himself to be polite.

“Please let go of me, Charlotte.”

She smiled lazily. “Will you cut me if I don’t? Maybe I just want to keep you.”

In response, Kenshin gave a short, sharp trill between his teeth. Charlotte yelped as the coils holding him shattered into dust. Before she could recover, his katana was drawn and at her throat.

“Let me out.”

“Mimicry? Ah, little dragon.” Charlotte gave a happy sigh. “You haven’t changed at all.”

\----------

Ten minutes passed, in the end. Aoshi finished his tea, blinked owlishly in the chair, and then ordered another. Now that he had little to do other than sit in silence and wait for Kenshin to return, his desire for sleep was returning with a vengeance. The girl brought him a second mug and informed him it was free of charge, giving him a faltering smile. It vaguely occurred to him that she might be flirting with him, but he had no time for her. His attention was taken by the vid screen in the corner of the café.

“ _—coming to you live from downtown where Ripperjack is throwing the doors wide for all comers, this is Akiyama Hitomi from Juice! We hope to see you down here, guys! The concert’s free for everyone, come and forget the—“_

Mid morning coverage from the trend setter channel. Aoshi frowned. This wasn’t the girl that was usually on.

_Where is Misao?_

There was a stuttered gasp behind him. He turned as Kenshin sat bolt upright, yanking the port from his arm and flinging it onto the table. The redhead shot to his feet and then nearly fell over again; moving so fast post-disconnection was rarely wise. Aoshi put out a hand to steady him.

“What did you find?”

“We’re leaving,” Kenshin said tersely, weaving on his feet. “We’ve got twenty minutes at the most. I’ll explain on the way.”

The mug of tea was left forgotten on the table.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Sano was exhausted by the time he made it to Chinatown. Bad enough that some psycho kid had rammed a knife through his hand, but he was beginning to think the explosion had done more than just crispy-fry his back. Come to think of it, the grenade had pretty much sucker punched him down the stairs. He was aching all over, muscles in his shoulders and arms stiff to the point of making him cringe every time he put out his good hand to keep his balance. The hangover still lurking in his system wasn’t helping, either. Some bed rest would be nice.

He passed the adult vid store and turned right, weaving down the narrow alley way and doing his best not to trip over the homeless guy by the dumpster now staring at him with interest. The tattered jacket wadded around his hand was soaked through and he felt light headed enough that he knew he’d lost a little too much blood. Well, Megumi would take care of him. She’d done it before. This was just another Sano visit, needing another patch job after a fight. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing to scream at him over.

Right?  
  
He eased his way down the stairs to the herbalist’s basement and hesitated for a few moments before finally lifting his good hand and thumping on the door. Technically, Megumi was closed. Night surgery and all. But he had a feeling she’d still be here, especially if Kaoru had come this way. He _hoped_ Kaoru had come here. No clue where she’d be otherwise … he didn’t want to think about that.

Nobody was coming to the door. Sano leaned against it heavily and knocked again, quieter this time. “Come on, Megitsune,” he muttered wearily. “I know you’re in there.”

The faintly peeved voice he heard coming from the other side surprised him. “Sagara Sanosuke, I told you to _go home_.”

He blinked. _Go home?_    “What?”

And then he fell as the door was yanked open, costing him balance. He hadn’t meant to. Megumi stood in the doorway, one hand outstretched as if she’d intended to haul him in by the collar. Instead, her eyes widened as he collided with her. He felt her arms wrap around him automatically to arrest his fall and heard her sharp intake of breath. Felt it, too; his head was mashed against her chest in a way he’d definitely enjoy under better circumstances.

“Sano? _What did you do?”_

Not, _are you all right?_ Or even, _what happened?_ Sano grinned. “I can stand, you know. Shut your door.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” she said tartly, guiding him across the room. He felt the hard edge of a chair at the back of his knees and gladly sank down into it, slouching forward as she let go and disappeared from his view.

The door shut with a soft click. Megumi went straight to the bench above the sink, rummaging through it with a violence that told him he was in big trouble. “Tell me what happened,” she demanded.

“First things first. Is Jou-chan here?”

She was silent for a moment. Then she replied evenly, “To your left, behind the curtain, and please don’t tell me you’re hurt because of – Sano, _sit!_ ”

He was already up, lurching across the room to yank the curtain aside. Kaoru was sleeping peacefully, blanket tucked up under her chin. Her face was too pale, and he could see the gauze padding that lined her ears on either side. But she was breathing deeply and evenly. Not something she should be doing, given the booster shot she must have taken … but then Sano could work out for himself that Megumi had deliberately drugged her. He sagged against the bed in relief. At least a few of his fears could be laid to rest.

“She gonna be okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Megumi said frankly. “Depends on how she is when she wakes up. You know what happened.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yeah.”

“You idiot.”

“What? It wasn’t _my_ fault!”

“You gave her what she needed!”

“Hey!” he glared. “In case you didn’t know, that’s my job! And I told her not to—“

“Oh sure, telling her _not_ to is a perfect way of—“

“I told her she had to wait until I was there!”

“Yes, I see. That would work so much better. Forgive me my doubts.” She switched the desk lamp on, flooding the room with brightness. “Now come over here and stop bleeding on the bed. Sit. I need to deal with your hand first.”

Sano sighed and pulled away from the bed, wincing guiltily at the bloody handprint he left on the blanket. He sat down obediently as Megumi pulled the chair forward and gave him a warning look. Then he tried not to flinch as she began the delicate process of unwrapping the sodden jacket from his hand.

_Fuck. This is going to hurt a lot._ He gritted his teeth as she worked. At least she was being gentle, which was at odds with the upset look on her face. She was mad at him for Kaoru, he guessed.

“…she’ll probably be okay,” he said, fixing his gaze on the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at the mess. “I mean, she got here on her own, didn’t she?”

“No,” Megumi said shortly. “She was brought in by another girl. And she was a _mess_ , Sano. Let’s not get into the fact that there are going to be people all over this section of the neighbourhood looking for her.”

_No, let’s not._ His hand jerked in her grasp as she finally uncovered the wound and began carefully peeling cloth away from matted blood and torn flesh. _I won’t look. I won’t look._ Her hands were cool, shifting to steady him as she slowed in her work, treating the injury with due care.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I didn’t think.”

He was met with total silence, which surprised him. Admissions of _not thinking_ had never been safe around Megumi. He dropped his eyes to her face and was surprised to find that she looked even more upset. Hell, if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was about to cry.

“Megumi?”

“Don’t say it,” she snapped.

He shut his mouth. Opened it again. Finally said, “Okay. Where’s this other girl?”

“Gone for supplies, she said. She’ll be back soon.” The torn and bloody jacket slid off her lap onto the floor and she tugged his hand gently forward to rest on her knees. He couldn’t help it; a strangled sound escaped between his teeth as she laid his fingers flat, stretching the hand out, palm up.

“Hold still a moment more,” Megumi said softly. Sano squeezed his eyes shut and did as he was told. Then he yelped again as something _cold_ was sprayed across the open wound.

His hand went numb. Blessed relief. Thank the joys of modern medicine.

“That’ll stop the pain for an hour.” Megumi eased the hand back onto his lap and stood again, making for the sink. “I’ll have to clean the wound thoroughly; it’ll be better if you aren’t flailing like a baby while I do so. After that, I can pack the wound with some temporary regenerative coagulant and apply a layer of plastiskin—“

“Will my hand be okay?”

“In a week or two, maybe.” She snorted. “I’m not a hospital. Medicine has come a long way, but I can’t work miracles in a back street surgery. I can make sure your hand holds together to heal properly, but you aren’t allowed to _use_ it. For at least two weeks. Can you even manage that?”

“I can try,” he said darkly. “Think I’ll get the choice?”

“You still haven’t told me what happened. Hand on the table, please.”

He leaned forward to place it flat under the light as she came back with hot water and a sterile cloth. Now only his back hurt, but he wasn’t going to ask about that right now. His hand was far more important. His eyes dipped to the torn, raw wound and ragged skin, and the glimpse of something not bone underneath.   Tendons? Nerves? His stomach turned over.

“Stop looking at your hand and start talking!” Megumi snapped, sounding annoyed again.

For her, he mustered a sickly grin, fixing his gaze on the determined set of her jaw. Which was admittedly a very nice jaw, the way he saw it. “Oh you know, the usual. Guy comes to the store, doesn’t like what I have on sale. Picks a fight.”

“Be serious for once.”

He shrugged and immediately regretted it, wincing at the tight burn across his shoulders. Megumi set to work on cleaning his hand out with hot water and antiseptic. He could barely feel it. “Fine. They came looking for Jou-chan.”

“I guessed that much on my own, idiot. What happened _after_ that? You’ve covered in burns. Some of them second degree; looks like you escaped anything worse.” She gave him a wan smile. “What, did your oven explode?”

“Uh, actually…”

She froze. “They _blew_ up your _store?_ ”

“Well.” He fought off an urge to fidget. “No. I did.”

Megumi stared at him. “I don’t believe it. I thought this morning’s idiocy took the cake, but—“

“I had to,” he snapped, feeling hurt. “In case you hadn’t worked it out, I was dealing with a psycho who thought ramming a knife through my _hand_ was a good thing. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t done it.” Sano paused. “…wait. This morning?”

Silence. He peered at her face and was surprised to see she’d gone white. He opened his mouth to push the issue, and then shut it with a snap as she bent her head back to the job at hand, cleaning the last of the blood and dirt away. They sat like that for a good minute, neither speaking. She was working faster now, shutting out all distractions. Sano felt a faint stirring of unease. Something was wrong. She knew something he didn’t.

Megumi said nothing while she treated the hand, only speaking once she opened the tube of heated plastiskin. “I guess we’re both idiots. Sanosuke,” she said in a low voice. “You were probably followed here.”

He jerked as she slathered the warmth over the back of his hand, smoothing it down before turning his hand over. Hot. Not painful, due to the anaesthetic. It would hurt later. What Megumi was implying was far more important. “They think I’m dead,” he said shortly.

“They’ll make sure. If they attacked you at the store, then that means they knew where to find you to begin with. They’ll have thought this through. Sumitomo enforcers aren’t the type to leave anything to chance.

  
He blinked. Nobody had mentioned Sumitomo. “But … you’d have heard by now.”

“No. You’ve only been here a few minutes. You—“

She broke off as they heard a faint commotion in the alleyway. Sano snatched the roll of bandaging off the table, winding it tightly around his hand as he stalked to the door. The plastiskin gave his hand the appearance of being whole; the bandaging would protect it from further damage. He hoped. He could hear the sound of running footsteps and braced himself, reaching out his good hand to grab the chair back.

Then there was a solid, desperate thudding at the door, and a girl’s voice. “ _Megumi-san!_ ”

Familiar. It suddenly clicked who the other girl had been. Sano dropped the chair, reaching forward to draw the bolts back instead. Misao all but tumbled through the door, dressed in a violet summer dress, out of breath, a bag over one shoulder. He yanked her inside and slammed it shut again.

“Hi, Sano,” Misao said breathlessly, glancing over to Megumi as the doctor sank into a chair. “It’s good that you’re here! You can carry Kaoru—“

So he _had_ been followed. Sano closed his eyes briefly, then turned and met Megumi’s gaze as Misao continued babbling. “—on the roof, but you’ll have a whole squad in your lap in about two minutes, probably. If we leave now they’ll see, but we can still run. The streets are busy. Megumi-san?”

“There is a back entrance,” Megumi said calmly. “Of a sort. Straight up into the herbalist. He has a plant stand in front of the door.”

_Not for long._ Sano rounded on the bed, pulling the blankets back and scooping Kaoru off the mattress. He staggered a little under her dead weight; he wasn’t really well enough to be doing this, but what choice did he have? Misao wouldn’t be able to lift her at all, and as for Megumi—

Megumi hadn’t moved from her seat. He glared at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m a doctor,” she snapped. “I’ve done nothing more than my job, and therefore I’ve done nothing wrong. If someone comes to that door—“

“She’ll turn us in,” Misao supplied helpfully. “So we better get going. Come on, Sano. She’s covering her butt, that’s all. Better than being on the run, right?”

Seriously debatable. But they didn’t have time. The first, ever so polite knock sounded on the door.

Sano hoisted Kaoru up as carefully as possible and followed Misao out into the back rooms, heading for the small flight of stairs. He still had no clue how Misao had gotten herself involved, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did now, in the face of the mistake he’d made.

They’d have to run and hope it was enough.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Kaoru wasn’t easy to carry. Megumi hadn’t time to do anything about his back, and hugging her to his chest was causing the blistered skin to pull and tug painfully. God knew what hauling her through the streets was going to do to Sano’s hand. It was something he wasn’t going to think about. Wasn’t much point.

If he didn’t get them out of there, he wouldn’t be alive long enough to worry about it. He might get out of here in one piece _without_ Kaoru, but that was also something that he didn’t need to dwell on.

Leaving her just wasn’t an option.

Sano eased them both up the stairs and pressed against the wall near the door to the herbalist’s, giving Misao enough room to slip past as she dug through her bag, face pale, hands steady. He wasn’t that surprised when she came up with a set of lockpicks, flicking through them to try one in the door. He’d known Misao a while, through her friendship with Kaoru, but that friendship had started as a business arrangement and anyone who saw the need to employ hackers on a regular basis had more than a few secrets to hide.

She worked in silence. Sano shifted his gaze down the stairs. Below them, across two rooms, they heard Megumi’s voice, tired and irritated as she swung her front door open with a whole bunch of force she probably didn’t need.

“Do you _mind?_ In case you didn’t read the sign outside, this is a _night_ surgery _._ Some of us need sleep!”

Sano grinned despite himself. Beside him, Misao pocketed the picks and started pushing carefully at the door, trying to move the plant stand on the other side without noise. Megumi’s angry self-righteousness would give them some cover, but he wasn’t so stupid as to believe she could buy them more than a couple of minutes.

He halved that estimate again when he heard the reply, heart sinking as he recognised Soujiro’s cheerful voice. “I apologise … Takani- _sensei_ , is it?”

“You can read,” she retorted. “Congratulations. Unless you’re bleeding to death, I’m not seeing anybody. May I recommend the Oguni clinic? They’re—“

“I’m not here for medical assistance.” The little psychopath sounded amused. Sano swallowed, eyeing Misao’s furtive efforts, and wondered how sharp Soujiro’s hearing was. They were two rooms over, but the soft scrape of the plant stand slowly giving way sounded deafening.

It occurred to him that he was abandoning Megumi to Soujiro. The thought made him freeze, staring down at Kaoru in his arms. He seriously doubted Soujiro would fall for any innocent act of Megumi’s. Oh, _shit._ He wasn’t thinking this through—

Megumi muttered something he couldn’t catch; he heard the sound of the door swinging shut, and the soft thud as a foot shoved against it. Soujiro laughed. “Much as I appreciate your comical attempts at misunderstanding, Takani- _sensei,_ I am here on business.”

There was a pause. Sano ground his teeth. _ID. He has to show her ID. That’s all he’s doing. Or – or a photo of Kaoru --_

Megumi gave a polite cough. “My apologies. You must be aware, of course, that as a doctor, I have--”

“No agreement of confidentiality that cannot be breached by corporate inquiry,” Soujiro replied smoothly. “Particularly in the case of an unlicensed surgery. The photo is very striking. I tracked an associate of hers to your door. Answer the question.”

Sano’s breath caught. Misao had the door half open. _Play it smart, Megitsune. Please._ He wasn’t stupid; turning around to leap to her defense wasn’t going to help any of them. Right now, Megumi could still play the _neutral doctor_ card and be uninvolved—

\-- _this is too easy._

He stilled Misao with a shake of his head, staring down the stairs. Soujiro would know _he_ was here. They’d followed him. They would’ve seen Misao come tearing in—that, and Megumi even trying to stall him instead of just stepping aside and letting him search, would clue him in that Kaoru was here. Why was he being so …nice about it?

_Because he knows we’ll run._

Fuck. Soujiro had a whole goddamned _division._ It wasn’t so much Megumi stalling Soujiro as it was the other way round…

Megumi had clued in before he had.   She gave a faint snort, voice carrying clearly and deliberately to his place on the stairs. “Yes, Kamiya-san is here.   She’s sleeping in my back—“

Sano shifted Kaoru until she was half over one shoulder, reached out with his good hand and shoved Misao out of the way. _Sorry, kiddo. No time for subtlety._

His foot slammed the door open with enough force to splinter the wood.

The crash of shattering ceramic on the other side was loud enough to draw shrieks of surprise from the herbalist’s rooms. Sano didn’t care. No time to be polite. Misao shouldered into the door next to him, pushing it open the rest of the way. Sano wrapped both arms around Kaoru, holding her close as he stepped over the wreckage of the stand and made for the glass door across the room.   Out of the corner of his eye, through the partially covered glass, he saw the dark uniforms of Sumitomo’s enforcers; two men and a woman, bearing rifles and racing to cut them off. One skidded to a halt and turned to meet his gaze through the glass, swinging the rifle up to bear.

_They wouldn’t fire into a shop, they wouldn’t—_

He heard Misao swear. Small hands planted in the small of his back and shoved him forward, sending a flare of pain up his spine. Sano stumbled.

The glass shattered, bullets whining through the air just behind him. The few customers that were in the shop dropped flat to the ground. The shopkeeper screamed, dropping behind the counter for protection. He might have been hit; Sano didn’t have time to check. He tightened his hold on Kaoru, doubled over her protectively, and blinked as the soldier who’d fired on them jerked and then dropped to her knees, one arm going up to her collarbone.

Misao landed next to him, one hand flung out, fingers splayed. “Sano, _run!”_

The soldier was bleeding, yanking out two small kunai, and Sano stared at the woman stupidly for a moment. _Misao’s throwing_ knives _!?_

“ _Sano!”_ Misao thrust a finger at the doorway. “There’s more! _Get her out of here!_ ”

Two more, almost at the door, and what the hell was he doing gawking? Sano bared his teeth and threw himself at the entry way, left shoulder slamming into the door as the first soldier reached for the handle. He heard a grunt of surprise as the door flew back – hoped to God it smacked the guy in the face – and he was out into the alleyway, feet skidding across rotting food and dropped plastic. Kaoru’s weight shuddered in his arms and he twisted to keep her head from bouncing off the door frame.

He didn’t take the time to glance back. Hungover and hurt he might be, but even Sano could work out that a rectangle of badly cut wood wasn’t going to stop two men with rifles from shooting him dead if they chose to. Even if they didn’t want to shoot blind; in another two seconds they’d just slam the door back closed and have a clear shot. He gritted his teeth, threw his trust to Misao, and _ran._

\---------

It occurred to Misao that it was a nice thing to be underestimated sometimes. ED One was chasing Sanosuke who was carrying Kaoru, and so far the only one of them to pay any attention to her was the female squad member that she’d ambushed with her kunai.

The woman was down now, dispatched with a kick to the face as she attempted to stem the blood flow from her two knives. Lucky again; she’d been aiming at Sano. Misao assessed the damage, decided the woman would live, tried not to think too hard about whether or not she’d have to get more lethal to keep Kaoru safe and retrieved her two kunai. She had two braces; twelve kunai versus a squad of probably sixteen, and Sano wasn’t going to be able to help, not with his hands full. He had to get Kaoru out of here.

She had to cover his escape. It was that simple. Right?

The two men in the alleyway hadn’t looked in her direction. She wondered if they even realised Sano had company. Misao grinned weakly, watching as they shoved the door out of their way with a curse and took off after their target.   She waited until they’d passed the door and then ducked out through the broken window, taking off after them at a sprint. Sano would reach a main road in a few moments which would give him added cover; ED One wouldn’t _dare_ fire into a crowd, not given the stunt pulled this morning.

That just meant they’d try and take him down before he got there. They weren’t trying just yet; probably wanted to take Sano out with a clear shot and retrieve Kaoru, and given Kaoru was now half over Sano’s shoulder, ponytail swinging loosely, that was proving a little more difficult – but they’d fire and risk killing her rather than let Sano get away.

Misao kept her mouth shut, matching pace with the second enforcer, shifting kunai to balance between her fingers. She wouldn’t have the time to retrieve any more. Taking a breath, she let them fly without a sound; two, aimed low to bite into the back of the man’s thighs. He fell to his knees, more with a cry of surprise than pain, and she barreled into him from behind to tackle him down to the ground, hand slamming his head into the concrete. She was up and running again, leaving him down with two knives in his legs, knowing damn well he’d be up again in a few minutes. It wouldn’t matter by then. Even a few seconds could make the difference.

She’d been quiet but the man she’d downed had yelled, and before she could close the distance the second enforcer had turned, rifle swinging around to trace her movement. She gave a yelp and tried to throw herself out of the firing line – _kinda hard when you’re in a tiny alley way, Misao! –_ and ended up hitting the bricks on one side, an arm flung up in front of her face. Nowhere to go—

The bullet cracked into the wall by her head. She felt the sting of brick fragments cut across her cheek and glanced up, blinking as the man toppled backward, rifle still in hand.

It took her another moment of stunned silence to realise he’d been shot through the forehead. Very accurately. With a silenced weapon, given she’d heard nothing, and that meant there was someone else on the rooftops that wasn’t with ED One. Misao swallowed against nausea and a sudden, surreal sense of fear. She had no friends who’d do this. _Who the heck…_

She looked up before she could stop herself and caught sight of people running across the low rooftop. Another two, clad in ED One uniform, paying no attention to her. Instead, they tracked Sano, closing the gap between them. Sano was damned fast, given how injured he was and how heavy Kaoru had to be – but he wasn’t fast enough. They’d be on him before he made it to the main street.

"Well, great," she muttered.  "Ninja is as ninja does..."

She bolted across the alleyway, leaping for the top of the dustbins just ahead and then jumped again, hands latching on to the bottom rail of a balcony to swing herself up. 

 

\---------

 

He came skidding around the corner of the alleyway and straight into a crowd, and fought to keep his grip on Kaoru with sweaty fingers. His right hand was still numb, but even Sano knew he was using it in a way that was going to be seriously bad once the painkillers wore off. He didn’t have much choice. Just had to hope he was strong enough to keep on running until they were all safe.

The street was a blur of faces both curious and uncaring, flickering strangely under the dim orange light given off from the gently waving Chinese lanterns above them. The middle of the day and they were still in use; wasn’t it pointless? Sano blinked and tried to focus, ploughing through people roughly, ignoring the shouts and insults as he upset carts and toddlers and couples in his mad dash through the street, weaving his way around the vendor stalls. Not like he had time to stop and be polite; the suits wouldn’t fire into a crowd, but they’d still be able to run him down.

  
He had to lose them. Put enough bodies between him and Soujiro’s goon squad and vanish into someone’s basement, and at least Chinatown gave him the chance. Too busy, too crowded even in the middle of the day. He’d already lost Misao. Hadn’t seen her since the alley way. Was trying real hard not to assume the worst and in fact not think about it at all, because there was no chance of going back for her, just like Megumi—

He heard surprised screams to his right and his heart dropped as he caught a flash of black ahead. One of his pursuers burst out onto the street, holding his rifle up and away from the crowd, firing it once. The result was electrifying – shoppers and street fixers alike scattered before the sound. Panic did wonders. Sano was swept aside by a rush of bodies and fell to his knees as Kaoru was knocked from his grasp. Blisters broke open on his back and he gritted his teeth, snagging his good hand in Kaoru’s shirt, hauling her over his shoulder and staggering back up to his feet.

The gunfire had cleared some of the people from the street but not all; gawking was an ingrained habit in Lesser Tokyo. Nevertheless, he knew that the shot had made it easier for the enforcers to get to him. The butt of a rifle swung out of the crowd, clipping Sano across the jaw.

He reeled on his feet, tightening his hold on Kaoru as he felt her being tugged from his grip. Sano gritted his teeth. If he was in a little better shape, this would’ve been much easier--

And then Misao appeared out of nowhere to latch onto the gunman’s shoulders like an angry cat, her sudden weight bearing him down to the ground and nearly dragging Sano and his precious bundle along for the ride. One arm hooked across the man’s throat, Misao looked up at Sano frantically and he grinned hard.   His foot crunched down onto the man’s face hard as he could.

Then he turned on Misao. “Where the _hell_ did you come from?”

“Up,” she said breathlessly. “And hi! And—“

“ _Stop where you are!_ ”

They looked back. Another four had hit the street. Following the sound of the gun shot, he guessed. Misao paled and made shooing motions at him, then rounded to face pursuit. Sano reached out with his free hand and caught her by the shoulder, dragging her after him.

“Sano—“

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snarled. “You wanna help, sure. Cover our asses, go right ahead. But you keep running.” His heart was thudding in his ears. He’d swear Kaoru was getting heavier. “I got my hands full. You stick with me, and feel free to throw those knives at anyone who gets too close, but _don’t stop._ ”

Four behind them; he’d assume Misao had somehow dealt with the three in the alleyway, which left another nine if it was a standard enforcement team. And where _were_ they? Sano swallowed. Stupid question, wasn’t it? They’d be working to cut them off.

_At least if they’re all after us, they left Megumi alone…?_

Small comfort. Sano ran, weaving through people now openly staring at them, Misao a shadow by his side. She constantly glanced behind them, one hand gripping knives – the idea of _Misao_ and _knives_ was still freaking him out – and the other hand pushing nervously at Sano’s hip as if she could somehow make him go faster. No more shots rang out – the corporations were still concerned enough about their image to risk firing in a busy street without a clear shot – but he was too _slow_ for this; injured and carrying Kaoru, it wouldn’t take much at all for them to be overtaken.

Then again, this was Chinatown. He grinned tiredly. “Hey, Misao? You like apples?”

“ _What?_ ”

He changed direction without warning, lurching back across the road to the haphazard line of stalls that dotted the streets of Chinatown. Jewellery, scarves, spices, the bytes bargain bin; fruit. Behind him, he caught sight of the enforcers now bodily shoving people out of the way, a bare ten feet behind them. Sano met the greengrocer’s eyes with an apologetic smile, reached out a hand to drag Misao past him with a surprised yelp and kicked the rickety legs out from under the table.

They ran, leaving a landslide of apples in their wake. Laughter broke out behind them from those watching, mingled with the merchant’s outraged swearing. Sano heard the rough fall of at least one man.

“Well, that bought all of four seconds,” he muttered.

“I can buy more—“ Misao shoved at him. “Keep running. I get the idea!”

Sano did as he was told.

\---------

There was definitely far more to Makimachi Misao than her _Juice!_ reputation would have him believe. Soujiro kept pace with the fugitives, skimming across on the rooftops with a smile still light on his face as he watched the girl’s desperate efforts to keep his men from getting too close. It hardly mattered; if they turned off on either of the next two streets they’d find the roads blocked. And another street beyond that, the rest of his squad was waiting to close them off.

Soujiro kept to his high vantage point ostensibly watching for any sudden inspiration to unpredictability from Sagara Sanosuke; even stupid men were capable of amazing stunts when cornered, and he would credit Sagara with a fair amount of intelligence. If the two broke from their lantern-strewn street and attempted to break through a shop front, Soujiro would be waiting for them.

This was true. Mainly, however, he was fascinated with the reporter. Not out of any physical attraction, but rather the sheer incongruity of a trendsetting teenage celebrity that carried kunai and was more than capable of ambushing and defeating Sumitomo’s top enforcers. Watching her now, effortlessly flinging a knife backward to pin a man’s shirt sleeve to a crooked street bulletin board – wasting one of her few weapons on a non-lethal delaying tactic, no less, _this_ surprised him _–_ made him wonder what her connection to Kamiya was.

The girl on the street definitely had martial training. Stealth _and_ cunning, hidden behind a plastic smile and a bouncing, giddy laugh.

There was more to this ‘solo’ netrunning job than met the eye. He made a note to investigate the reporter later – if he had time, if the reporter wasn’t killed in the next ten minutes – and ensure there wasn’t any larger conspiracy against Shishio afoot.

He laughed aloud as the apples went flying – another man down, another delay. Sagara was staggering on the street but kept his speed, the netrunner hugged to his chest, her head bouncing against his shoulder. Behind him Makimachi palmed her knives and shoved him forward, yelling something lost to the noise of the street. Soujiro smiled; watched as she vaulted over the next stall and shouldered into it from behind. Flimsy, folding tables.

It was a nice try. Futile, in the end. He noticed she was holding on to the rest of her kunai.

No doubt they both knew they’d be cut off before long.

Soujiro diverted his own pursuit around the pigeons that lined a rooftop balcony. He’d rather not upset them and give away his presence just yet. He swept his gaze along the rest of the street and frowned. The chase along this busy street of Chinatown was gathering the wrong sort of attention; as more and more people turned to look back at the commotion, and many of the more level-headed members of the crowd were pulling back to seek shelter in the exotic shops that lined the street, they stood out more and more. Tattooed, top-knotted street trash, staring balefully in the direction of the fugitives and those that followed.

This morning there’d nearly been a riot, not three blocks away. It had ended badly, but the losses on the side of these street samurai had been far worse. He considered that, and then let himself relax slightly.

After this morning’s slaughter, he doubted they would try to interfere with his job. The casualties just wouldn’t be worth it.   Better to be safe, though; he spoke into his headset as he ran, issuing calm instructions for his men to leave the street samurai well alone and offer as much respectful distance as they could afford.

Without a spark, there would be no fire.

He turned his attention back to the street just in time to see a large section of the lanterns come down. Three gaily painted lines of gaudy orange all linked together, and Makimachi severed the cords with a double-flick of her wrists as she jumped, sending them crashing down, a gridwork of thin rope and tissue paper and metal candle plates tangling much of their pursuit. Those in front also fell – gawkers backed away from the sudden chaos with yelps of surprise - but Sagara had already moved out of their range, taking advantage of the sudden confusion to lengthen his lead.

Soujiro grinned outright. _Very nice._

Not that it mattered. But he’d remember that trick for another time.

\--------

They couldn’t afford to be seen together. Aoshi had left Kenshin and circled around to the front entrance of Megumi’s surgery; protection for Megumi herself should she need it, though he wouldn’t make himself known unless absolutely necessary. One quick nod, a shadowed glance in his direction as Aoshi sized him up, and then the tall man was gone without a word.

Kenshin approached from the opposite side alone; pushed his way through the crowds and already knew he was in the right place. Gunshots had rung out not too long ago – dull, thudded sounds, distant enough that he knew they were close to Megumi’s, which made him wince. But the crowd had, as one, stopped moving, peering down the street as if waiting for a Chinese dragon procession to come dancing its way under the lanterns. They were nervous; talk of street samurai and earlier fights and they’d seen the guns, and nevertheless they just _stood_ there.

He shouldered past them, quick and polite and too fast for any to take offense, and suddenly found himself more or less in the open. Kenshin found his feet fast and started to run. Much further down, he could see that a long section of the Chinese lanterns had come down; past that, there was chaos.

Then he saw the runners.

Absurdly, his attention went straight to the flash of pink; a dark-haired girl with the ribbon nearly falling from her hair now, carried by an injured man in a pair of grubby blue jeans and not much else. He recognised him from Charlotte’s warning; beyond that, Kenshin barely gave him a glance.

_It’s her._

Kamiya Kaoru was chalk white, and had clearly been hurt by the _Battousai_ program – how badly, he had no idea. Memories of her anger outside Sumitomo made Kenshin break into a full sprint. He’d had to let her go then, and she’d gone and near killed herself. Foolish to go against a corporation as powerful as Sumitomo, and yet she’d survived somehow – and he couldn’t fault her for trying. Not if her brother was trapped inside. With _Jinei,_ of all people.

He caught sight of the girl following them, kunai in hand, and knew she’d been the one to help; the urgent voice calling for Kaoru to _hold on_. Charlotte had more than come through for him.   He’d reach them in another minute …

…and then what? Turn on Sumitomo in front of far too many witnesses from ED One?

He reached a hand up to the hilt of his sword, slowing to a careful walk as he finally caught sight of six members of ED One, appearing at the edges of the street just in front of him; he knew as the fugitives grew closer, they’d make their presence known. End of the road, quite literally. But they were just doing their job—

He glanced up and found Seta Soujiro, crouching on the edge of the rooftop, already staring at him. Soujiro’s gaze was quizzical but friendly, offering him a nod. Of course – after all, they were on the same side. No reason for Aoshi’s replacement to believe otherwise just yet.

There were others on the street. Kenshin took note of them, and considered. Then he took a breath and continued his steady advance, picking up the pace once more as he passed the squad, making directly for the tall, staggering brunet who held on to Kamiya Kaoru as if she meant his life.

Kenshin drew his sword.

 

\---------

 

Sano heard the metallic ring and looked up with bleary eyes to see the slight man – boy? – with the sword blocking his path. He could go around – _easily_ go around – but he could see the other members of the squad fanning across the street behind him to back him up, the onlookers – shoppers and street samurai alike - pulling right back out of harm’s way. The newcomer didn’t _look_ corporate – not in his grey hooded shirt and jeans – but the blue-eyed gaze turned on him was chilling enough to qualify, just the same.

Everything had gone quiet.

End of the line.

The boy had a scar on his face, crossed on one side, which aged him. A man. The eyes and the red bangs he could just see under the hood were familiar somehow – couldn’t place them. The redhead was staring at him with an odd look, and Sano had no clue why. Did it really matter? He ducked his head to the side as Misao fetched up behind him with a small hitch of breath, wondering if he had any other options left.

The redhead tilted his head and spoke, voice so soft Sano almost missed it. “Run _._ ”

Sano blinked. “What—“

The hood was pulled back; red hair flashed in the street, settling around the man’s shoulders in loose strands, the majority kept back in a loose ponytail. _Familiar._ Sano stared, then backed off a step as the sword swung up, point at his throat.

The redhead smiled almost ruefully, shaking his hair out. There was a noise of surprised outrage from somewhere behind them; Sano almost looked, and then was drawn back by the redhead’s next words, crisp and clear.

“Sumitomo claims the life of this woman. Stand aside and—“

There was a scream. A woman, bloodcurdling and angry, and a flash of steel that caught the light; Sano looked despite himself to see her, half naked and smeared in bodypaint, hoist a tanto from behind the crowd and fling it hard across the street straight between the scattered enforcers on a direct course for the redhead’s back. He spun, katana sweeping up to deflect it away with a startled look. The tanto hit the street and spun, fetching up in the gutter.

Sano stared for a half-second as the tanto was retaliated to; an enforcer turned and fired, hitting her square in the chest. He heard a yell from the roof-tops – didn’t have time to look and see who it was – just knew that the resentment that had built all through downtown since early morning had suddenly found its catalyst.

As the redhead found himself suddenly, helplessly under siege by angry street samurai, dragging the rest of ED One into the battle, Sano decided to take his advice. He spun on his heel, dragging Kaoru into the shop front to his left and vanishing from the street, Misao trailing like a ghost behind him.

In the ensuing chaos, their escape was only noticed by one man.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the second riot in one morning.

All in all, it had been a rather unproductive morning. 

The street was a mess. The lanterns had come down entirely now, torn apart and crunched underfoot by rioters. It _had_ been a riot, in the end – far outstripping the earlier fighting, the chaos had encompassed the entirety of the street and begun spilling over into other blocks. Kamiya Kaoru’s dramatic entrance into Chinatown at sunrise had apparently caused many old grudges to simmer anew, coming to a head when Himura Kenshin became an unwitting catalyst for the growing tension. Just _why_ Himura had caused such an outcry was something that would bear looking into – but for now, Soujiro was otherwise occupied.

At request, he politely stayed at the scene long after both sides had been separated; the downtown police had swept across the area and arrested many of the malcontents, arranged medical aid for those that were hurt, and were now in the process of questioning those of his men that were still uninjured. Routine, and futile in the end. He was sure that he could inform the inspector that Sumitomo had ordered them to visit downtown and deliberately cause a riot, and the inspector would nod, write something inconsequential in his notes and leave them be. After all, the authorities in Lesser Tokyo had no jurisdiction over the _zaibatsu_ , which had long ago developed their own private forces. The idea amused him no end.

Nevertheless, current company policy enforced making a good impression with the media – a power in its own right, even now – and thus he remained, assisting in the clean-up with good cheer and acting as if he were hanging on the inspector’s every word, offering restitution for the damages caused by ED One’s inadvertent presence in such a debacle. He also smiled and indulged in rueful but friendly banter with the reporter for CN3, making sure the camera caught his charming words and boyish good looks.

That he’d had a very similar conversation once already this morning, standing outside Sagara Sanosuke’s fiercely burning storefront, was not a fact that the inspector seemed inclined to bring up.

 

\---------

 

It took him some time before he was finally able to extract himself from the whole process. Left alone on the street, offering a small wave to the last of the media crew as they melted away through the onlookers, Soujiro at last turned on his heel to make his way across the taped-off section of street. His foot brushed against the gutted remains of a lantern that had escaped the hurried clean-up attempt – the torn orange crepe now flecked with blood and dirt – and he pushed it aside with the toe of his boot absently.   His eyes were on the redhead balanced gingerly amidst broken glass on the stair-step of a second-hand book store. The windows had been shattered and many of the books were torn – forlorn casualties of the fighting. One of his squad members stood at ease by the redhead, ostensibly to protect him from any stragglers.

Himura Kenshin held a cold compress to his forehead and looked up with a rueful grin as Soujiro approached. His hair was a tangled mess matted with dust, half escaping from the ponytail in a decidedly unprofessional manner, and there was blood spattered on his grey t-shirt.

Soujiro gave him a brilliant smile, coming to a stop just before the stairs. “We meet again, Himura-san! Shishio-san informed me you would be assisting us, but I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Good afternoon … Seta-san, was it?” Kenshin was softly apologetic, gesturing with his free hand to the street. “It seems I was more of a hindrance than a help.”

“Soujiro to _you_ , Himura-san,” Soujiro replied sweetly. He tilted his head and examined the man in front of him, smile intact. “I am glad to see that you aren’t badly hurt.”

“So am I.” Kenshin met his gaze with a wry smile. “Though I imagine it would have been much worse if your squad hadn’t been here. Thank you.”

He laughed, then. “Shishio-san speaks very highly of you, Himura-san. I can’t very well lose him his best programmer.”

“No. I suppose not.”

The neutral tone of the redhead’s reply wasn’t lost on Soujiro. He tilted his head and studied the man’s face more closely. The violet eyes were wide and guileless, and the smile just as easily sweet as Soujiro’s own – but he had spent just over a year with Shishio Makoto and had come to understand that those in the higher circles of Sumitomo were highly adept at duplicity.

_There are only two people that I feel are truly worth my respect in this city_ , Shishio had told him. _Himura is one of them. He hides his calculation behind bright smiles and idiocy, but it is there, nevertheless._

_Do not underestimate him. This is a critical mistake._

Soujiro gave a faint sigh. “Himura-san,” he said. “Why did that woman attack you?”

“I can’t be sure,” Kenshin replied softly.

His eyebrows lifted. “I see. Did you recognise her?”

“No.”

That sounded honest. Soujiro’s smile grew wider. “You can’t be sure, you say, Himura-san? Do you have suspicions?”

Kenshin hesitated. “Are you familiar with the Neo-Bushido riots?”

“Going on ten years ago, I understand. Although I was very young at the time, Himura-san. I couldn’t tell you much more.”

“I see.” The redhead closed his eyes a moment, before glancing back to Soujiro with a tired expression. “A long story, which would take up much of our time, I think. You could ask Shishio when you have a moment free; he knows as much as I do.”

Soujiro grinned outright. “I believe I shall, Himura-san. Is it fair to assume, then, that you have made enemies in Lesser Tokyo?”

“It’s fair,” Kenshin acknowledged.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Himura-san.” He gave the redhead a short bow, showing his teeth. “It’s unfortunate that you did not remember this in time to avoid a riot, isn’t it?”

The look Kenshin turned on him was wide-eyed and sincere as he spread his arms in a helpless gesture. “It’s been ten years, Seta-san. Things change. I hadn’t given it much thought. I wish I had.”

The ED squad member shifted slightly backward, eyeing them nervously as they stared at each other. Further down the street, the last of the emergency crews was busy trying to make its escape through the crowded Chinatown streets. Soujiro gave an absent wave to the inspector as he left, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

Kenshin clearly wasn’t telling him everything. However, whether that was just an unwillingness to talk about his history or a deliberate attempt to curtail the investigation was another matter – and as far as Soujiro knew, Kenshin had no call to be lying to him about capturing one netrunner. According to Shishio, he’d hunted down several before this. What made Kamiya Kaoru different?

“I wish you had, too,” he said finally. “But I suppose you’re only human, Himura-san.” He paused, giving his next words great consideration. “It’s just a shame that your forgetfulness caused the deaths of several people.”

Kenshin flinched, narrowing his eyes. “It was unnecessary to shoot that woman.”

“Call it a soldier’s instinct to protect a ranking officer,” Soujiro said cheerfully. “And these things escalate. What did you expect to happen? You will be more careful next time, of course.”

The redhead rose to his feet, smile hard. “If I can do nothing else for you, Seta-san, I will return to my own investigation.”

“Soujiro,” he corrected. “I thought your orders were to assist us?”

“My orders,” Kenshin said steadily, “Are to hunt the hacker down, whether independent of your team or no. And as you’ve so rightly pointed out, my appearance here is only a hindrance to your own investigation. I will conduct mine more subtly, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Kenshin left without another word, drawing the hood over his hair once more as he turned down the nearest side alley and vanished from view. Soujiro watched the alleyway long after he was gone, turning the conversation over in his mind. Then he gave a soft laugh.

“That man,” he said blissfully, “Is _lying_.”

“Sir?”

He glanced to the squad member still standing by the stairs and gave a nod. “It’s nothing we need to deal with now. I’m sure Himura-san and I will have plenty of time to discuss things later. Is someone questioning the doctor?”

“Chou is with her, sir.”

“Excellent. Have Chou report to me when he is done. Until then, we’ll conduct a street investigation. Someone will be willing to tell us which way Sagara decided to run.”

“Sir.”

Kenshin was working on his own, and a lie did not necessarily mean that the redhead was his enemy. Soujiro didn’t really mind, either way; either Kenshin had good reasons for not being completely honest with him, or he was in some way working against corporate interests. It wasn’t Soujiro’s place to question. He would find out one way or another for Shishio, of course, but that was a far lower priority than his original objective.

“Excellent,” he said. Smiling. “Let’s pick up where we left off.”

 

\---------

 

“So, this Kaoru chick’s a friend of yours, huh?”

“Patient,” Megumi corrected frostily, doing her best to look irritated at the intrusion of the two armed soldiers in her clinic. It wasn’t hard. Kaoru’s reckless actions combined with Sagara Sanosuke’s abject stupidity meant her patience was already stretched to breaking point. She tapped her fingernails on the small table and kept her gaze fixed resolutely on the two of them so she wouldn’t have to look at the blood stains still left behind by her emergency work on Sano’s hand.

_He’s probably ruined it already._ The thought added an extra edge to her scowl.

The enforcer with the ridiculous blond hair gave her a lazy grin. One finger seemed permanently stuck in his ear, scratching away. Megumi wondered if maybe he was trying to find gold. “Patient, right. And Sagara?”

“Patient.”

“They know each other?”

She gave an irritable shrug. “I suppose they do.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

That was the other, a soft-voiced man with a feminine lilt to his words. Megumi eyed him. For all his dainty posturing and the way he tapped his fingers on his hip, the faint smile on his face told her that this was the more intelligent one. She snorted at him, and stood abruptly to head for the sink. “No, of course I don’t. But from the way he threw himself at her when he got here, I’d assume they know each other quite well.”

“Probably lovers, then,” the blond said wisely.

Megumi was suddenly highly grateful that her back was now to them both. Her lips twitched as she reached for the cloth. “It’s possible,” she said sweetly. “And of course, neither of them are now here. Shouldn’t you be chasing them?”

“That’s none of your concern, Takani-san.” The dainty one smiled at her as she returned to the table. “Your concern is here with us, ne? We’ll need Kamiya Kaoru’s medical records—“

“Those are confidential!”

“—and you might want to think of a good reason for sheltering two fugitives from us before we have to officially call you in. It’s not wise for a doctor to help people with questionable pasts, you know?”

Megumi felt genuine anger, now. “It’s not wise to throw such ridiculous statements in my face, either. Surely you’re smart enough to realise a medical practitioner takes an oath to help _anyone_ who comes to their door?”

“S’not the way the hospitals do it,” said the blond unhelpfully.

“The hospitals are full of materialistic hypocrites whose first duty is to how much money they can squeeze out of the dying,” she snapped. “You get _real_ doctors in Lesser Tokyo. Just in case you didn’tnotice, I harboured no one. Your superior officer came here, he asked, _I provided._ ” She gave the dainty one a level stare. “If your only reason to be here is to harass me, then you can leave right now.”

The dainty one lifted both hands with a placating smile. “I won’t take that any further, Takani-san. Not for now. So please, don’t get your feathers ruffled, ne?”

“I can’t help you any further,” Megumi said more calmly. It occurred to her that neither of them had asked about the _third_ person in her rooms that morning. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to volunteer the information. “Unless you have direct questions for me, please go. You may have noticed that my surgery is a mess, due to your fugitives.”

She slapped the cloth down on the table, attacking the bloodstains with quiet violence, and wondered if Sano had managed to escape. Hopefully, the fact that these two smarmy idiots were still standing in her surgery was a good sign.

There was a delicate cough, and she looked up at the dainty one’s smile. “ _What?_ ”

“Medical records for Kamiya Kaoru, please.”

“I can’t give you those.”

“You’ll give up anything to a corporate inquiry, honey.” The smile turned into a playful pout. Megumi resisted the urge to throw her bloodied cloth into the idiot’s face. “I don’t really want to accuse you of anything more. You can keep your oaths. But Sumitomo _will_ get those records.”

 

\---------

 

He recognised the sound of Megumi’s voice, though he hadn’t heard it in years. Aoshi kept utterly still on the upper balcony above the herbalist’s shop; he had no wish to be seen by any of the three occupants of the Takani Clinic. Kamatari and Chou had been members of ED One for years, and he trusted them to follow corporate protocol … and while they were ostensibly loyal to Aoshi as their commanding officer, the simple fact remained that he was not meant to be here.   He had no desire for Seta Soujiro to be informed of his unexpected appearance.

And Takani Megumi would certainly not appreciate his intervention; of that, he was sure.

In any case, she was handling herself admirably thus far. Snappish and sarcastic, she showed no hint of nerves, playing the outraged and inconvenienced medtech to the hilt. Her only response to Kamatari’s honeyed demand for records was a frustrated hiss of air.

“Fine.”

There was a gleeful clap of hands. “Great! If you could get that for us, Takani-san, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“I’ll get you a soft copy. Take a seat.”

He heard footsteps cross the floor, but no other sound. The soldiers obviously remained standing; he couldn’t help but approve. Then the soft sound of long fingernails clacking against keys.

In the distance there was the sound of a siren, cut off into silence abruptly. The emergency crews were vacating Lesser Tokyo. Aoshi lifted his gaze to the street at the end of the alleyway. He had no idea whether or not Kenshin had been successful in his rescue attempt, but the fact that a riot had clearly erupted in the same area spoke volumes of the redhead’s desperation. He had no illusions as to how _that_ had started.

That meant Kenshin was likely on his way here. That is, if he hadn’t been injured or arrested. Aoshi frowned. He would give the redhead another half hour.

“Oh, before you burn that, Takani-san…” Kamatari’s musing voice cut across the silence, and he tensed.

Megumi sounded annoyed. “What?”

“Do make sure you include today’s notes.”

There was a pause. “Who’s going to be seeing this information?”

“Not your concern, Takani-san,” Chou said cheerfully. “But we do want a full report. Stands to reason you’d want that thing accurate anyway, right? Being such a fine, upstandin’ doctor-type and all.”

There was a sly tone to Chou’s voice, and Aoshi blinked, frown growing deeper.

“Being such a _fine upstanding doctor_ ,” Megumi returned icily, “You’ll find that my records are already accurate. And I believe the term here is _medtech_. Really, with such an ignorant attitude, I’m not surprised you people are so disliked.”

Kamatari giggled at that. Chou took a moment to reply, his grin evident in his voice. “Well, how would I know? I’m covered by corporate insurance, Takani-san. We have our own private doctors up there. As far as they’re concerned, medtech is a dirty word used for people who work without a licence and mainly use the word _medicine_ as an excuse for hackin’ off people’s limbs and selling them on the black market.”

“I think I’ve already covered my opinions on uptown doctors,” Megumi replied sweetly, nearly masking her underlying fury. “Here. Your records are on—“

Chou overrode her. “Yeah, you mentioned hypocrites, if I recall,” he drawled. “That’s funny, don’t you think?”

The drawn-out silence that followed Chou’s remark told Aoshi all he needed to know. He dropped quietly down to the ground level, hesitating at the top of the basement stairs before drawing back into the shadows to consider options. Kenshin had wanted him to make sure Megumi would be okay, and she was more than capable of looking after her own interests …

“You’ve got your records,” Megumi said finally, voice quiet. “Get out.”

“Hey, don’t look so upset,” Chou said. “Did I strike a nerve? Oh man, I’m sorry. It’s just that you look awful familiar to this other chick doctor I used to see around the place--”

“You’re mistaken,” Megumi snapped. “Get _out._ ”

“Awful defensive, aren’t you?”

“Oh, hey!” Kamatari gave a delighted laugh. “You’re right! I remember her. She was much more polite than you, though, Takani-san. Always knew her place.”

“Big coincidence, right?” Chou added cheerfully. “But now I think about it, you can’t be the same person after all. I mean, no one in their right mind would leave Sumitomo to come and work down _here_ , right? Hell, I even think there’s a law against it…”

Aoshi shifted closer to the door. They were both intent on baiting her, and he still had no idea what to do. Megumi’s shift to outright defensiveness was a clear indication of her fear, not to mention her inability to cope with this line of questioning – a tag-team interrogation tactic that _he_ had helped to instil in his team - and despite the casual air of the taunting, there was real trouble brewing.

On the other hand, he could still see no way to intervene without making things far worse. Not for the first time, he wished that he had swapped places with Kenshin when they’d separated.

“If you’ve got something to say outright, then say it,” Megumi said flatly.

“Wouldn’t dream of being _outright_ ,” was the sly response. “I mean, that’s slander, right? I was just, y’know …marvelling at how alike you looked. Say, you have any idea where Kamiya Kaoru woulda gone to? Or Sagara, maybe? I know you said earlier you didn’t know, but I dunno, maybe—“

“No idea,” she snapped. “And if I knew—“

Aoshi winced as she stopped. _Mistake._ She was rattled.

“You wouldn’t tell us?” Kamatari sounded innocent.

“Don’t put words into my mouth. If I knew, I’d have already told you. After all,” Megumi added sarcastically, “I know my place.”

“Hey, hey, it’s all good,” Chou said, his boots creaking on the ground as he moved forward. “We’re not tryin’ to get on your nerves, Takani-san. Just the resemblance really was amazing. Heh, we’ll have to tell Kanryuu-sama we met someone who—“

There was a resounding thud of noise. It took Aoshi a moment to realise Megumi had slammed her hands down on the table. Her voice was shaking. “I’ve had enough. _Leave._ ”

There was silence. It was broken after a moment by a chuckle. “Really, now—“

Chou was cut off by a crashing sound and a man’s yelp from the back room. Pottery shattered and fell tinkling down the stairs, followed by the thud of a body. Aoshi blinked. Then settled back from the door with the faintest sense of exasperation as the two soldiers rushed for the back room.

He _would_ have to enter in such a fashion.

 

\---------

 

In fact, it wasn’t entirely deliberate. The herbalist shop had been closed to the public, given the broken glass and blood that spattered the floor. Kenshin, still holding the compress to his forehead, had merely shown his identification to the security guard at the front and stepped through the broken windows, only to find the herbalist himself listening at the broken door that led down into Megumi’s surgery. In his irritation at the sloppiness of ED One’s interrogation combined with the coldest glare he could muster to send the herbalist packing, his foot caught on a broken plant stand and he stumbled.

  
After that, the genuine fear he could hear in Megumi’s voice as it floated up the stairs, was more than enough for him to fall in the most devastatingly loud way he possibly could. The adjoining door slammed open. Kenshin’s eyes met the incredulous gaze of the two guards, and he smiled.

“I’m very sorry,” he said amiably. “I slipped. It’s a bit rough out there. Oh, I’m here to take over the questioning of Takani Megumi? I’m—“

“Himura Kenshin,” the blond said, eyeing him with disbelief. “I know who you are. But you aren’t part--”  
  
“Oh, good,” Kenshin smiled, staggering to his feet with an exaggerated air of injury. He brushed himself off. “Then you’ll know that I’m here on Shishio-san’s direct orders? I just came from speaking to Seta-san as well. He can confirm that for you.”

They stared at him. Behind them both, he caught sight of Megumi’s blue eyes wide with disbelief. He smiled again for her, more gently. “I’m afraid I’m pulling rank,” he said politely. “Given the particular program that your fugitive survived, I need to ask the lady medtech a great many questions. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” the blond said mildly, offering him a nod of respect. It surprised him. “Sawegajou Chou, sir. Pleasure to meet someone so, uh … famous.  Hope to talk to you again.”

_Ah.  Of course._

Chou gave him a knowing smile, then turned, waving cheerily at Megumi. “Take care, Takani-san! And thanks for the notes. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

Kenshin moved aside to let them pass, letting the other one’s curious stare slide over him. His eyes were on Megumi, standing in the middle of her surgery, hands clenched into white fists at her side as she glared at him.

He moved into the surgery itself, closing the adjoining door behind him and leaning his back against it, listening as the two guards moved away through the herbalist’s store. Glass crunched under foot as they finally left the building, and he sighed.

Then he smiled brightly. “Megumi-dono,” he said, “It’s been a long time.”

Megumi smiled.    
  
Then she took two steps forward, tossed her hair over one shoulder, and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

 


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megumi's morning continues to get worse, while Jinei's day gets a little better. Creep.

All in all, Kenshin supposed he kind of deserved that punch.

"You think you can just walk in after all this time." Megumi was practically hissing, rounding away from him to set a knocked over chair upright. "Do you know how _worried_ I was? Cutting me off like that, and you have the nerve to visit on today of all days-"

Kenshin held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as she hefted a bottle of hand soap from the floor, and breathing a faint sigh of relief as she just slammed it back down on the bench. "Megumi-dono-"

"Don't you Megumi-dono me!" she flared.

"-you're smarter than that," he finished gently. "I'm sorry. I truly am, but you should know well why I wouldn't contact you."

"And yet you're contacting me now," she shot back, but she dropped into her chair, hands clasping together on the table to prevent them shaking. Her knuckles were white, and Kenshin felt a faint pang of guilt. "Don't tell me that's a coincidence."

"It's not, no," he agreed soberly, eyeing the chair opposite her- and deciding against sitting down at the dangerous look Megumi shot him. Instead, he drifted over toward the bed, peering through the skewed curtains at the rumpled blanket. "I'm officially here on behalf of Sumitomo."

"Officially." Megumi gave a snort. "Officially, I will of course give you every assistance as is my duty as a medtech of Lesser Tokyo. _Unofficially_ , you can go to hell."

"I'm glad to hear it." His tone was light, but Kenshin didn't glance at her. Instead, he reached out, smoothing the blanket down neatly across the bed. His fingers touched on the strand of long black hair still caught on the pillow; the small stain of blood by it. _Nosebleed or earbleed?_ "Unofficially, I'd much prefer to do just that than give the company what they want."

After a moment, Megumi gave a shaky laugh. "Trusting, aren't you. What makes you so sure those two guys aren't right outside the door listening in?"

"I'm not working alone," Kenshin said cautiously. "Let's just leave it at that. Megumi-dono... I know it's been a long time, and I'm glad to see you're well-"

"Apart from having a bunch of trigger-happy idiots charge through my surgery," she muttered.

"-but I don't have much time." His violet eyes flicked to hers. "Tell me about Kamiya Kaoru."

"Tell you _what_?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I already gave full records to the other two. I wasn't lying about that. And not that I don't appreciate your help, but you're a troubleshooter for Sumitomo, aren't you? She broke the law. Aren't you on their side? Unless you've suddenly decided Katsura isn't worth your loyalty."

"Katsura is dead."

Megumi's breath caught, and she gave him a stricken look.

"It was a long time coming," he said quietly.

"Oh, Ken-san." Megumi bit her lip, glancing back down to her hands. "I'm sorry."

Kenshin gave her a small smile, and finally dared to sit in the other chair. "I appreciate it."

"But you don't have time," Megumi said thoughtfully, echoing him. "Who's in charge of DA now?"

"Shishio Makoto."

It was all he needed to say, really. Megumi's eyes widened, and then she stood abruptly, heading back to her workbench. Kenshin glanced toward the door, and then qualified anyway. "My role in the company has been restructured. Shishio wants me to bring Kamiya Kaoru in."

"And that means you're not going to do any such thing." Megumi sighed, but the tension had gone from her shoulders. "Tell me."

"I don't honestly know what to do," Kenshin admitted. "I haven't thought that far. I think she may have valid reasons for breaking the law and I want to know what they are."

"I can't tell you that." Megumi returned to the table with cotton swabbing and a bottle of antiseptic. "I told her a long time ago I didn't want to know."

"So you _do_ know her." Kenshin smiled at her.

"I'm her doctor," she sniffed. "And she happens to know certain other people I have the misfortune to see on a regular basis."

"So you know the man with her, then," Kenshin confirmed. "Megumi-dono, do you have any idea where he would have taken her?"

Megumi stayed silent, deep in thought as she reached over with professional hands to gently comb Kenshin's bangs back from his forehead. He closed his eyes and stayed still, letting her examine him.

"I don't ask Sanosuke about his work either," she said at last, reluctantly. "He has mentioned a friend of his, though. It's possible he could go to him for help, but I don't know him, either. His name is Katsu."

"Can you give me an address for Sanosuke?"

"Not that still exists," Megumi said tartly. "His store blew up this morning."

"His-"

He made the connection. Of course. Sagara Sanosuke was the name of Soujiro's targeted suspect. He'd been familiar because Charlotte had pointed him out. Hurt, stumbling away from wreckage, and coming straight here because Soujiro had goaded him into it. Standard tactics. The guy looked in better condition now, but he frowned.

_Sano_. That wasn't their first meeting, was it? Mentally he added a white hanten jacket and red headband and pictured a cocky grin instead of the desperate snarl-

_Damn you Sano, this is important!_ Blue eyes, shadowed face, lifting her hands to vanish-

"Small world," he said softly.

Megumi paused in her work. "What?"

"Never mind." He frowned. Kaoru had needed to see Zanza. Zanza was a dealer in all kinds of designer software. Kaoru had spiked Sumitomo's system. He felt an irrational wave of irritation that Zanza would send _anyone_ knowingly into Sumitomo's databanks, especially a girl who had an outdated headset.

_Maybe he didn't know._

And the headset had saved her life.

Clearly they were more than dealer and client, or Zanza wouldn't have stumbled his way here to pull Kaoru out, and he certainly would have sacrificed her on the street to save his own skin even if he'd gone that far. Friend? Boyfriend? Brother? His hand had been a wreck, and he'd been in that building when it went up...

"Megumi-dono, I need-" He broke off with a blink of surprise as she sprayed something cold along his hairline. "What's that?"

"Localiser," she said shortly, smoothing his hair back down with a gentleness that wasn't reflected in her sour expression. "You're going to have one heck of a headache in an hour or two. This will dull the pain and let you think. If you're going to help, you'll be more useful this way."

She didn't bother asking why he was injured to begin with. Kenshin smiled sweetly at her in thanks, and then continued on. "Kaoru-dono is unconscious. How badly hurt is she? How badly hurt is... Sanosuke?"

Megumi froze- just for a second, before she put the spray gently on the counter, washing her hands at the sink, her back to Kenshin. "Sano has second degree burns on his back and he sustained a knife injury to the hand. I've repaired the damage to his hand, but it'll only hold as long as he doesn't stress the injury over the next few days. That's not going to happen."

"And Kaoru-dono?"

"I'm not sure about Kaoru-chan." She turned the tap off, wiping her hands on a towel, before facing him with a troubled look. "Ken-san. She mentioned a samurai. She ran into Battousai, didn't she?"

Kenshin took a breath, face expressionless. "She got far enough into the network that Sumitomo's black ICE defences engaged."

"A _yes_ would have sufficed," Megumi muttered. "The other girl dragged her in here hardly able to walk, but between headset and 'net trauma and whatever she took to keep her awake, that's not so surprising. But she told me she can still see him."

Kenshin started. "What?"

Megumi's tone turned waspish, her worry clearly written on her face, and she turned away again, this time yanking open the cabinet to pull out a bottle of... beer? Kenshin blinked at it. "Exactly that. She's hallucinating your killer program. I'm only a medtech. I can't undo the damage that scrambling her signal has done. She might get better with rest, she might-"

"-get worse." Kenshin closed his eyes. Of course. Battousai had registered a kill. Kaoru had only survived by detonating her chronological data path. Reckless tactics; she was scrambled, Battousai was scrambled, and the mind wasn't meant to cope with what was, essentially, being rebuilt with corrupted data. _Damn._ "The sooner we find her-"

"Himura." The interruption was smooth and low and inflectionless, Aoshi appearing at the front door without a sound. The look he directed Megumi's way was completely without apology. "Trouble."

Kenshin _moved._

The bottle Megumi was holding dropped to shatter across the floor.

-o0o-

"Megumi-dono- _Megumi_ -"

She barely heard Kenshin, drowned out in white noise, eyes fixed in terror on the measuring expression that Aoshi levelled on her from across the room. There was a day, not so long ago, where a man in glasses and a pristine suit screamed into her face so closely that she could still feel the wet splash of his saliva if she thought on it too long, his fingers twisted through her hair and shaking her back and forth like a ragdoll. And the hurt, and a long knife, spinning across a stark floor.

_That's your tanto. I'm giving it back to you._

Machine gun fire and an endless run through dark corridors and fire, and this man looming out of the dark, splattered in blood—  
 _  
You have nothing to look forward to—_

Times changed. Instead of running for the back door, Megumi's fingers fisted around a scalpel, unaware of the high sound of distress she made in the back of her throat. God knew she couldn't hope to even lay a scratch on him, but anything was better than just standing there like a frightened rabbit and waiting for the axe to fall.

She wasn't aware Kenshin had moved until her attempt to lunge toward Aoshi was arrested by the simple weight of his hand wrapping around hers, pushing it firmly down, and she flinched, trying to pull away.

Kenshin plucked the scalpel out of her grip and tossed it across the bench, gripping her by the shoulder instead and interposing himself between the two. "Megumi-dono, it's _all right!_ "

"How can you _say_ that!?" she shrieked. "He's a killer! And he hates you! Don't you remember what he-"

"The situation has changed." Aoshi's words were quiet, but they cut through her panic like a knife. "I'm not your enemy."

"He's not mine either," Kenshin said apologetically, then shot a withering glance over his shoulder at Aoshi. "You couldn't just wait outside?"

Aoshi shook his head, calm unruffled by Kenshin's irritation. "Chou reported in to Soujiro on the network. Soujiro has ordered him back here to take Takani into custody once you're done."

The reality of the here and now overwhelmed her, and Megumi stiffened, face white. After their interrogation and now this- "That's ridiculous! I haven't done anything wrong!"

Kenshin gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, frowning at the news. "He's testing me."

"Yes." Aoshi shifted to look back at her, expression unreadable, and she recoiled. "You need to leave the clinic."

"And go where?" she demanded hotly, more rattled than she cared to admit that this advice was coming from _Aoshi_. "I don't-"

"Megumi-dono, there are several places we can take you." Kenshin took a step back to look her full in the face, eyes kind. "Will you trust me? I promise, you will be able to return here."

"With your enforcement division breathing down my neck?" she snarled, glaring at them both. She thrust a finger in Aoshi's direction. "And with _him_? Isn't he part of ED One?"

"He's working with me." At the outraged look she shot him—one that bordered on utter betrayal—Kenshin straightened and shook his head before adding firmly, "Megumi-dono, he's the one that told me about the botched run. He's on our side."

"He once swore he'd kill you! He _works for Kanryuu_!"

"Only because it's convenient."

"But-"

"There are better times to have this conversation," Aoshi interrupted with a faintly puzzled frown as if they hadn't just been yelling about him, fingers touching the base of his ear. He was wearing an earpiece, she realised. Of course. They all did. "Chou's given an ETA of four minutes."

"Four...?" Kenshin blinked, meeting the other man's gaze for just a moment, and she had the strong impression she'd missed something. "You're right."

Then he turned wide, violet eyes on Megumi once more. And said nothing. He'd leave this up to her, she realised, and she felt a faint tinge of annoyance under the fear. As if she had a choice. But...

…if she stayed, she'd be bundled right back to Kanryuu in the end. Aoshi didn't have to give her an out. He could've kept his mouth shut. And she'd always been a survivor.

"I'll pack a bag," she said faintly. "Ken-san, pack up the board for me? I don't want to leave my records behind."

Kenshin gave a nod, and then spun away to cross the room. Aoshi raised an eyebrow at her. "A bag?"

_I don't trust you_. She'd rather pretend he had never walked into her clinic at all. But rationally, she knew Kenshin wouldn't be working with him without good reason, given their history, and as long as he didn't leave her alone with Aoshi, she would manage. Just for a short time. What other chances did she have?

"I'm still a medtech, and you're trying to help three people who could be badly hurt by now." Her voice was still unsteady, but she was beginning to calm down. "Better that you bring them to me instead of getting some other medtech in trouble as well."

Aoshi blinked at that, glancing to Kenshin as the redhead neatly compacted Megumi's software and slipped it into his jacket. If he wanted to ask another question, she didn't give him the chance, re-opening the cabinet to empty it shelf by shelf into her rucksack. Including the last of the beer; two bottles.

It didn't belong to her. She'd confiscated it from Sano that morning, when he had drunkenly thumped on the door to her surgery and demanded a good luck kiss. _Idiot_.

He didn't even remember.

"I wouldn't trust anyone else, Megumi-dono." Kenshin spoken plainly in response, she realised, to her shot at Aoshi. "You're one of the best medtechs I know. I don't believe Kanryuu understands the true worth of what he lost that day."

He smiled warmly at her, and Megumi looked away. Her fingers curled briefly on the strap of her bag, before she slung it over one shoulder and tried to look as if she had intended all along to walk out the door with two people who should rightfully be her enemies. "Fine. Let's go."

Aoshi nodded once, and then stepped back out onto the street, and Kenshin offered her his arm. "It'll be all right."

_You can't promise that._

But she nodded anyway, and let him pull her gently out onto the street.

-o0o-

The room had been put back to rights; the tray of food mopped up, IV stand fixed back in place, child—his last remaining child, a strong and sturdy survivor, the most promising—treated and laid gently back in bed. Security took the extra precaution of cuffing his wrist to the railing. Myoujin Yahiko slept through it all, head swathed in bandages. A crucial experiment setback for days, if not weeks.

A concussion that would interfere with his test results. Dealing with the ridiculous intern earlier had not completely defused Jinei's temper, and now he scanned through the security footage of the medical bay from the time of Yahiko's first awakening, fingers twitching with misdirected irritation at every small movement in the room, unblinking eyes trained on the boy's first struggles to comprehend where he was. Throughout it all, he never lost his grin.

Clear enough that the boy had been more alert than he'd made himself appear to be—an act of subterfuge that spoke of clear thought and intelligence unimpeded by the earlier experiments. An excellent sign indeed, one far outside the projections forecast by his research team. Possibly one he should have them fired for—but then, Jinei allowed, _he_ hadn't thought to keep a closer eye on the boy either. Perhaps he should let it slide.

Especially as now it seemed that Myoujin Yahiko was not his only option.

There were three reports on his desk that seemed rather positive, all things considered. The first from his IT team, detailing the amount of damage discovered throughout the networks. Important operations had been restored just after sunrise, leaving SysOps to conduct manual sweeps for the remainder of the damage. The Kurogasa Division had suffered no serious setbacks beyond the security hub going down, and that was as a result of the runner's extended stay there. The program Kamiya had used was destructive, but it also clearly highlighted every place she'd visited. From there, he could easily see what choices she'd made, up until the time Battousai had cornered her at the hub interchange and she'd ejected herself from the system, shattering them both.

The second report was a full copy of Kamiya Kaoru's medical records, with its last entry noting hallucination and neural damage. The third was a flagged tech notice stating the Battousai program was corrupted and its permissions and flag parameters were offlined.

_Both_ was the operative word. He hadn't realised it was possible, but he wasn't an expert on programming details. Now, thanks to this impudent netrunner, he had another avenue of experimentation. Jinei ran his fingers down the visual image pulled from the cameras, showing the slim and nondistinct figure of a dark-haired girl with a sword in her hand. If ED One recovered their competence he might have the chance to examine her in person.

_How much of Battousai is in you, I wonder?_

Perhaps enough to drive her mad. Not enough for his own purposes, however—but he thanked her silently for giving him the idea.

Until then, he had equally important tasks. He turned away from the reports, plugging himself into the network with one quick motion. And then Jinei dropped into the security hub to see the damage for himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this update, this site is up to date with all Zai shenanigans. I wrote the first two scenes three years ago and the last one ... half an hour ago. (Look! Progress!)
> 
> Now have a prayer circle or something that I don't lose my muse for another three years. (Sob.)


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